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WASHINGTON 

The Man Who Made Us 




WORKS BY PERCY MACKAYE 



PLAYS 
The Canterbury Pilgrims. A Comedy. 
Jeanne d'Arc. A Tragedy. 
Sappho and Phaon. A Tragedy. 
Fenkis, the Wolf. A Tragedy. 
A Garland to Sylvia. A Dramatic Reverie, 
The Scarecrow. A Tragedy of the Ludicrous. 
Yankee Fantasies. Five One-Act Plays. 
Mater. An American Study in Comedy. 
Anti-Matrimony. A Satirical Comedy. 
To-MoRRow. A Play in Three Acts. 
A Thousand Years Ago. A Romance of the 

Orient. 
Washington. A Ballad Play. 

COMMUNITY DRAMAS 
Caliban. A Community Masque. 
Saint Louis. A Civic Masque. 
Sanctuary. A Bird Masque. 
The New Citizenship. A Civic Ritual. 
The Evergreen Tree. A Christmas Masque. 
The Roll Call. A Masque of the Red Cross. 

OPERAS 
Sinbad, the Sailor. A Fantasy. 
The Immigrants. A Tragedy. 
The Canterbury Pilgrims. A Comedy. 

POEMS 
The Sistine Eve, and Other Poems. 
Uriel, and Other Poems. 
Lincoln. A Centenary Ode. 
The Present Hour. Poems of War and Peace. 
Poems and Plays. In Two Volumes. 

ESSAYS 
The Playhouse and the Play. 
The Civic Theatre. 
A Substitute for War. 
Community Drama. An Interpretation. 

ALSO (As Editor) 
The Canterbury Tales. A Modern Rendering 

into Prose. 
The Modern Reader's Chaucer (with Professor 

J. S. P. Tatlock). 



AT ALL BOOKSELLERS 





'EXITV^ -ACTA- PROBAT 



WASHINGTON 

The Man Who Made Us 



A BALLAD PLAY 
BY 

Percy MacKaye 

M 

WITH SCENE DESIGNS BY 
ROBERT EDMOND JONES 




NEW 



YORK Alfred A. Knopf mcmxix 



Copyright, 1919 

BY 

PERCY MACKAYE 
All rights reserved 

In its printed form, this play is published for the 
reading public onJy. Dramatic rights, and all rights 
whatsoever, in the play are fully protected by copy- 
right in the United States, Great Britain and coun- 
tries of the copyright union. 

No performances of this play— amateur or pro- 
fessional—may be given without the written per- 
mission of the author first obtained. 

For permission to read in public this play, or any 
other dramatic work by the author, application must 
be made direct to the author, who may be ad- 
dressed in care of the publisher. 



•CI.A511356 

JAN 22 I9|y 

I 



TO 

THE ARDENT YOUNG MEMORY OF 

ADAIR ARCHER 

SOLDIER, ARTIST, SCHOLAR, 

KNIGHT-ERRANT OF A NEW THEATRE, 

THOROUGHBRED OF WASHINGTON'S VIRGINIA, 

THIS PLAY IS AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 



PREFACE 

On July Fourth, 1918, one hundred and forty-two 
years after the Declaration at Independence Hall, 
Philadelphia, in defiance of King George of Great 
Britain, an immense shout went up from the first base- 
ball-field in England, out of the lusty lungs of Yankee 
soldiers, ardent with unprecedented vernacular: — 
"What's the matter with King George? — 
^e'5— all— right!" 

With that gust of New World youth, the ancient 
connotation of kings was blown into oblivion, and the 
prerogatives of Democracy over Royalty were whole- 
heartedly sanctioned by the united posterity of George 
Washington and George the Third. 

On that same Fourth of July, speaking to the rep- 
resentatives of thirty-three nationalities gathered on 
the quiet slopes of Mt. Vernon by Washington's tomb, 
President Wilson said: 

"What we seek is the reign of law, based upon the 
consent of the governed and sustained by the organ- 
ized opinion of mankind. 

"I can fancy that the air of this place carries the 

accents of such principles with a peculiar kindness. 

Here were started forces which the great nation 

ix 



X PREFACE 

against which they were primarily directed at first 
regarded as a revolt against its rightful authority, but 
which it has long since seen to have been a step in the 
liberation of its own people as well as the people of 
the United States; and I stand here now to speak — 
speak proudly and with confident hope — of the spread 
of this revolt, this liberation, to the great stage of the 
world itself." 

This play — the first published work for the theatre 
to attempt to portray George Washington as its cen- 
tral figure — has been long a plan projected in the 
mind of the writer; but not until almost the hour it 
was finished (which chanced on that Fourth of last 
July) could its theme have taken on its full-rounded 
significance today — the relation of the will of Wash- 
ington to the world's will. 

For not only Great Britain, France and America — 
the Dramatis Personae of the drama of Seventy-Six 
— hold now the stage of a vaster Theatre of the Peo- 
ples; now no nation or people of the earth is so ob- 
scure as to lack its relative role in the world drama 
of Liberty versus Tyranny; and now, for all the 
racial groups of insurgent Liberty in common, Wash- 
ington rises — the proclaimed protagonist. 

A theme such as this, so vast to imagination, might 
well give pause to any writer, were it a question of 
his compassing its magnitude. But, as it will require 
centuries before the manifold meanings of the present 
conflict can be illumined and wrought into art, so the 



PREFACE xi 

image of Washington must remain a presence in ever- 
growing history, to be glimpsed and revealed by un- 
numbered artists, each according to his vision. 

At the date of this Preface, the early production 
of this play has already been announced to the public. 

Concerning the two structural versions of the 
play — the version as here published, and the version 
as abridged for the regular theatre — the reader is re- 
ferred to the comments in the Appendix. 

Concerning the ballads, historical references, and 
certain aspects of a new craftsmanship implied in the 
play's structure, further comments are made in the 
Appendix, which contains, as well, the list of Charac- 
ters and Scenes. 

The play's ballads together with their music, with 
illustrations by Arvia MacKaye, may be had in broad- 
side form, published by the H. W. Gray Company, 
2 West 45th St., New York City. 

Without the sound of those age-old tunes in his ear 
(tunes still sung in the Southern Appalachian moun- 
tains), the reader of this ballad-play will lack a charm 
which these pages cannot supply in default of the 
play's production. 

Paul Leicester Ford has shown, by exhaustive re- 
search, how enthusiastic a lover of the theatre Wash- 
ington was throughout his life; and it is a pleasant 
whim of the writer to fancy that the shade of the great 
Virginian — haply attendant at old haunts for a "first 



xii PREFACE 

night" — might find an old-time pleasure in the ballad- 
tunes of his native region interwoven in this play. 

Percy MacKaye. 

Shirley Centre, Mass., 

15 September, 1918. 



OUTLINE OF PLAY 



PROLOGUE: THE FOREGROUND— POSTERITY. 



Prelude: 
First Transition: 
Induction : 
Second Transition: 



Fiddler, Facts & Folk-Song. 
"The Golden Libertee." 
Laurels for the Tomb. 
The Fiddle Plays. 



ACT I.: THE BACKGROUND— MT. VERNON. 



THIRD ACTION: 
Third Transition: 
FOURTH ACTION: 

Fourth Transition: 
FIFTH ACTION: 



THE LAD AND THE SOIL. 
Fighting Frontiersman. 
"A BIG ACRE TO GAR- 
DEN." 
"Old Virgin-ee-ay." 
HOME AND PEACE. 



ACT II.: THE CONFLICT— TAKING HOLD. 



SIXTH ACTION: 

Fijth Transition: 
SEVENTH ACTION: 
Sixth Transition: 

EIGHTH ACTION: 

Seventh Transition: 



NINTH ACTION: 



REVOLUTION. 

"Bands & Rebels." 
HOiME-LEAVING. 
"Bunker's Hill." 
"Yankee Doodle." 
GRAPPLING. 
"Axes to Grind"; 
"Free and Independent" 
"Raggle-Taggle Gypsies. 
"OVER THERE." 



OUTLINE OF PLAY 

ACT III.: THE CONFLICT— WINNING THROUGH. 
TENTH ACriON: FAIR ENEMIES. 

Eighth Transition: "Down by the Cold Hill- 

sidey." 
ELEVENTH ACTION: FAMINE AND FRIENDS. 

Ninth Transition: Gypsies from France. 

TWELFTH ACTION: THE NEW FLAG. 

Tenth Transition: "Betsy Ross." 

THIRTEENTH ACTION: "A MOMENT MORE." 
Eleventh Transition: "Yorktown is fallen." 

FOURTEENTH ACTION: (1) "LONG LIVE THE KING." 

(2) THE ANSWER. 
Twelfth Transition: "0, whar '11 I lay my heart 

down?" 
FIFTEENTH ACTION: PEACE AND "THE REAL 

JOB." 

EPILOGUE: THE FOREGROUND— FUTURITY 

Recession: The Will-Song of a World. 

Fimile: "The Golden Libertee." 



^Our cause is noble. It is the cause of mankind. 

Geo. Washington 



PROLOGUE 
AND ACT I 



I 



PROLOGUE 
FIRST ACTION 

(Prelude) 

In the theatre, the orchestra has played an overture 
of themes from old ballad tunes of the Ken- 
tucky Mountains; the overture has just ceased; 
the auditorium is growing dark, and the rise of 
the theatre curtain reveals, behind it, inner cur- 
tains of blue, closed where they meet at the 
centre. 

And now one of the ballad themes (the tune of Ban- 
gry Rewy^ is heard playing on a fiddle at the 
back of the auditorium, where — at the head of 
one of the aisles — out of the dark appears a 
little lantern, borne on a pole by two Children, 
a Boy and a Girl in tattered raiment. 

Close behind these, clad in old-time garb, comes a 
Fiddler, who is playing the tune. Under an old 
felt hat, wisps of his long hair fall about his 
weather-browned face, neither young nor old, but 
wrinkled with lines of kindly shrewdness and 
good cheer. Slung at his side are a flute and a 
dulcimer. 



4 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

Down the aisle come the three Figures, in the lantern- 
shine, and — crossing a bridge over the orchestra 
— move along the front of the stage, till they 
stop near the centre, where the blue curtains are 
closed. 

Leaving the Boy to hold the lantern pole, the little 
Girl tiptoes to the Fiddler, who stops playing, 
and bends down his ear to her, as she whispers 
up to him. He answers with nod and smile, and 
speaks in a quaint, drawling tone. 

THE FIDDLER 

Yep, here we be, in time to see the show. 
This-yere's the playhouse. Us must knock, ye know. 
Three times for luck, to raise the play-folks. — Rap! 

[The Little Girl touches the arm of the 
Boy, who awesomely raps the stage thrice with 
the lantern-pole. 

At the third slow rap, suddenly the curtains 
rustle, and out between them is thrust forth a 
grotesque Head, wearing a Mask of Comedy. 
As it peers down at them, the Children shrink 
back, startled.] 

THE comic mask 

[Shrilly.] 
No, no; go 'way! 

[It disappears.] 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 5 

THE FIDDLER 

I swan! A nutty chap 
He is! What ails him? — Here: you try. 

[He takes the pole from the Boy and gives it 
to the Girl, who raps it thrice on the stage, more 
loudly. 

At this, another Head — this time in a Mask of 
Tragedy — stares out at her,] 



Go 'way! 



THE TRAGIC MASK 

[Deeply.] 

THE fiddler 

We come to see the play. 

THE TRAGIC MAaK 

[More deeply.] 

There is no play! 
[It disappears. 

The Children rush to the Fiddler and cling to 
him, the Girl whispering excitedly.] 

THE FIDDLER 

[Chuckling.] 
Eh — what? No; don't we scare ourselves. I reck- 
oned 
We come to see a show. Wall, — wait a second! 

[Taking from his belt an old wooden flute^ 



6 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

he plays on it a snatch of the same tune he 
played on the fiddle. 

While he does so, there appears between the 
curtains a third Head, wearing a Mask strangely 
winning and serene.] 

THE THIRD MASK 

Who calls there? 

THE FIDDLER 

Us: a boy and gal and me. 

THE THIRD MASK 

No more? 

THE FIDDLER 

Jest us. 

THE THIRD MASK 

But who are those I see 
With thousand strange eyes staring curious? 

THE FIDDLER 

A boy and gal and me is all of us. 

THE THIRD MASK 

[Stepping forth in front of the curtains — a 
Figure robed in deeper blue — removes his 
mask, retaining it in his hand.] 
And who are you, friend? 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 7 

THE FIDDLER 

Me — I'm Quilloquon: 
My mother hatched me — with a wild goose honkin' 
West, and a bell-wether tinkle-tonkin' 
East. Some, they calls me Dellum-a-down-derry. 

THE THIRD MASK 

Whom have you come to see? 

QUILLOQUON 

George Washington. 
These childers they've heerd tell about yon cherry 
He chopped with his renowned- in-history hatchet. 
I promised 'em a peep-in, and I'd catch it 
If I went back on my word. 

THE THIRD MASK 

What made you come 
This way? 

QUILLOQUON 

Oh, nosin' after news. I'm from 
Virginy and Kentucky — all along 
The ridge to Caroliny. I belong 
Where folks still sing and fiddle and have fun 
Jest feelin' lazy in the mountain sun, 
Atwangin' dulcimers aneath the holly. 
To "Gypsen Davy" tune and "Soldier Polly," 
And swappin' love-rhymes, what a hunderd years 
Ain't rubbed the peach-bloom off'n. Little us keers 
For far-off up-and-doin's, till we smells 



8 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

Gunpowder in the wind : then ups we tells 

The mountain birds good-bye and jines the colours. — 

Not me in khaki: that's for reg'lar fellers; 

The draft went by me. But I knowed some live 

Tunes what I played the boys in Seventy -five 

Down April lanes in Lexington and over 

To Yorktown, so I resked a four-leaf-clover 

Them songs 'ud set the boys a-marchin' quicker 

To settle the same old Devil's tarnal dicker 

He's raised agin from Hell. — So yere's my kit: 

Flute, fiddle, finger-strings — and songs to fit. 

THE THIRD MASK 

[Examining it.] 
Your flute is an old-timer. 

QUILLOQUON 

Yep: that's one 
I borrowed off'n Tom the Piper's son 
To fetch me over the hills and far away. 

[The Little Girl nudges the Fiddler's arm. 
He starts, nods to her reassuringly, and turns 
again to the Figure with the Mask.] 
But now, your honour, what about the play? 

the third mask 
They tell me there can be none. 

QUILLOQUON 

They? Who's they? 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 9 

THE THIRD MASK 

My helpers, who inhibit me. Pass through 
And meet them. 

[Turning toward the curtains, the Figure claps 
his palms thrice. Slowly, on either side, a hand 
from within begins to draw back the curtains. 

The Children come close to Quilloquon, who 
rubs his chin, and speaks with hesitation,] 

quilloquon 
Axin' pardon — Who be you? 

THE THIRD MASK 

I am an art that knows not yet the way v 

To make the beauty of my dreams come true: 
I am the Theatre: my thousand tasks 
Obscure their object, and with many masks 
I am myself bewildered. — Pray, come in! 

QUILLOQUON 

[Removing his hat.] 
Thank ye ! 

[On either side, the Masks of Comedy and 
Tragedy continue with their hands to draw back 
the curtains, till their figures stand guarding a 
medium aperture midway the opening of the 
stage. 

Through this aperture is revealed, with mys- 
terious lighting, an obscure space within, hung 
round with the same blue curtains, except in the 



10 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

centre background. There — at first hardly dis- 
tinguishable — an arched panel frames, on blue 
background, a great Dim -Red Figure, its limbs 
cloaked in large folds, its visage cowled. Two 
white, colonial columns support the panel's arch. 

In the left middleground, a dark blue chair 
of colonial design stands beside a blue table, 
piled high with manuscripts, books and masks. 

Taking the Children by the hand, Quilloquon 
enters and gapes around curiously as the Figure 
of The Theatre goes to the chair and, sitting, 
places his mask on the table with others which 
at times he lifts and examines. 

Gradually the Children become aware of the 
Dim-Red Presence in the panel, and tinpidly 
point it out to Quilloquon, who speaks to the 
Figure of The Theatre, with lowered voice,] 
Is somebody thar? 

THE THEATRE 

So you begin 
To see? 

QUILLOQUON 

Not quite I can't, and yet I kin 
Darkish. — Don't never it look nor speak? 

THE THEATRE 

To me 
No look nor speech, yet inexpressibly 
Its silence grows upon me, like great words 



I 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 11 

That tease the mind at twilight, when the birds — 
'Twixt song and sleep — commune with dawning stars. 

QUILLOQUON 

Whai doos it want with ye? 

THE THEATRE 

Its will: a dream 
Wrought into action: a majestic theme 
Built nobly large, in measure meet for one 
Whose soul was large and simple — Washington; 
But where I grope to build, the shadowy bars 
Of time restrain me, and — in nudging file — 
The gaolers of my art come forth, to pile 
My plan with heaped confusion. Look, now! See 
How patiently they come to furnish me 
With hoarded facts and hoary inhibitions. 

[From the right — hardly distinguishable at 
first from, the blue curtained walls — appear the 
blue-black forms of the Inhibitors, gowned with 
bizarre strangeness. 

Each carries in one hand a candle, in the other 
— a manuscript, chart or book. 

Obscurely they approach, in file, and address 
the Figure of The Theatre, successively laying 
their offerings on the table, around which — after 
they have spoken — they remain standing. 

As they approach and speak, the Dim -Red 
Presence in the panel fades to a dullish grey, 



12 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

while QuiLLOQUON and the Children draw aside 
in the left background, listening.^ 

THE FIRST INHIBITOR 

This map. ''™ 

THE THEATRE 
I thank you. 

THE FIRST 

All the main positions 
Are clearly marked — the British lines in red, 
The Yankee in blue, and here — in pencil lead — 
The progress of the battle. Some six score 
Like this I have in set. I'll bring you more, 
For you, of course, will need them all. 



A memorandum. 



THE THEATRE 
THE SECOND 

THE THEATRE 
Thanks. 



Of course. 



THE SECOND 

The borrowed horse 
He rode at Brandywine was either bay 
Or dapple. One old chronicler says — grey; 
But on the whole — and after much research — 
I stand for dapple. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 13 

THE THEATRE 

Dapple. 



THE THIRD 

He went to church 
Twice that December. Here you have the dates; 
You may rely on them. 

THE FOURTH 

Fm one who hates 
To differ, but I think I can adduce 
Proofs to the contrary. 

THE THIRD 

[In tone offended.] 

You! 
[They confront each other.] 

THE THEATRE 

[Intervening.] 

Please! A truce! 

THE FIFTH 

Pray, hear me, sir! — A modem audience 

Is gifted with a many-mirrored sense 

Historical; it reads biographies. 

Of which your hero has his legions : hence 

It is not unaware of diaries. 

All in your hero's hand, which tell his days 

And hours from youth till death; it even essajr 



14 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

To draw his giant portrait 'twixt the poles 

By picturing some thousand million souls 

That have breathed his name in awe; so, sir, I trust, 

Before you launch your drama from the shoals, 

You'll build it for the deeps. Indeed, you must. 

THE THEATRE 

You think I must. 

THE FIFTH 

Indeed ! 

THE SIXTH 

My neighbour's mystics 
May serve some purpose — possibly — discussed 
By poets. What / stand for is statistics. 



/ mentioned some. 



That's what / said. 



Toe line to history. 



THE FIFTH 
THE SIXTH 

In short, sir: give 'em facts. 

THE FIFTH 
THE SIXTH 

And make your drama's acts 



THE THEATRE 

My friends, I see, 
Are strangely in accord. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 15 

THE SEVENTH 

Sir, seriously 
I heg a word. These others give well-meant 
Advice; but, sir, / stand for precedent. 
Your chosen subject, Washington: when, sir, 
Was that great theme claimed by the Theatre — 
I mean with such bold title and intent — 
Till now before? And what, sir, is your Stage — 
Built to exhibit baubles of our age — 
That you should raise your hand toward him, and 

dare 
To show the Father of his Country where 
Puppets and clowns are shown? 

THE FIFTH 

In the public square 
He stands before the people. 

THE SEVENTH 

A statue — yes, 
Sculptured in bronze, austere in nobleness! 
A poem, grandly couched; a popular 
Oration; a laurel wreath — those truly are 
Forms of admitted precedent, but there 
Must we not pause? Sir — not to damp your spirit — 
How do you dare this thing? Do you not hear it — 
What all the world will say? 

THE THEATRE 

[After a pause, speaks with dreamy quiet.] 



16 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

Out there — over there — 
The mouth of all the world, cratered with fire — 
The Sibyl of heaven and hell — I seem to hear it 
Speaking one name. 

There — over there-^out of the pits of ire, 
Oracular with anguish and eclipse, 
The heart of all the world — through tortured lips 
Crushed with despair, crimson with torn desire — 
Speaking that name. 

There, where the looming cloud-banks of our boys — 
Storm after storm — snowflake the yawning pyre 
Whose hunger never cloys. 
One will — the will that tyrants cannot tire — 
Speaks that one name, 
Blows one undying faith 
Through bugles calling: "Youth! You shining 

boys. 
That sheathe your glad souls in the rusting dark, 

dream not Death 

Leaves you uncaptained when the day is done. — 
Above the Dragon shines your own St. George: 
He leads you still, who blew a dying spark 
To smithy Freedom's blade at Valley Forge. 
Tonight, in sleep, you camp with Washington: 
At dawn, he rises with you — and the sun!" 

THE SEVENTH 

1 do not, sir, quite follow: do you speak 
In propria persona, or in "quotes"? 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 17 

THE THEATRE 

What does it matter, friend? All words are weak 

To echo the eternal organ notes 

That sound my drama's theme. Reality 

Renders an aping thing of masks like me 

Most impotent and dumb. I fancied — ha, 

How pale are fancies now! — I saw a page. 

Torn from a starry volume called The Stage, 

Signed with a fiery hand: America 

To Washington. — Oh, you are right, 

So very right, my kind Inhibitors, 

To nail your warning knowledge on my doors, 

That I, with thanks, will bid you now goodnigh 

So blow your candles out, and go your way 

With minds at ease: Tonight, — there is no play. 

\^At his gesture, the Inhibitors blow out their 
candles, leaving the place in darkness, out from 
which the grey-cloaked Presence in the panel 
glows steadily brighter into luminous red, while 
— silhouetted against it — Quilloquon, with the 
Children, steps forth and speaks from the dim- 
ness,] 

quilloquon 
Axin' your pardon — where do us come in? 

the theatre 
I beg your pardon. 



18 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

QUILLOQUON 

Axin' yours agin, 
We see your poster sign outside, and so 
These childers took a chanct to see a show. 
And took my word on 't 'twas George Washington. — 
Now him, sir, when I knowed him, by his look 
He wa'n't nuther a statye, nor a book. 
Nor a State-house paintin', but a human critter, 
Like most o' folks in Mother Natur's litter, 
Only grittier stocked; so, when bad times come on, j 
They grabbed him for a general walkin'-stick 
To help 'em outen the mud, and nary a crick 
He cracked in the grain, but stood like hickory 
Heftin' one-half the world. 

THE THEATRE 

With all my heart 
I wish- 

QUILLOQUON 

[Goes on, with a dreamy smile.] 

Aye, sir: on winter-lonesome nights 
And black hell hangin' over airth and sea — 
Thar was a man could trim the northern lights, 
Or tend a taller-dip. 

THE THEATRE 

I wish my art 
Could serve his sturdy truth; but you have descried 
The webs that weave me round: my hands are tied. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 19 

QUILLOQUON 

Then s'pos'n I try my hand. These fiddle strings 

Have set some folks and kids to seein' things 

Evenin's, when chimbley pots begin to simmer 

The sap, and Sammy shuts his Yankee primer 

To stare in to the humin' of the logs ; 

And this-yere flute has whistled it with the frogs 

All night till mornin'-up; so, by and yon, 

To young and old through all Amerikee, 

When hankerin's of home and spring comes on, 

I fiddle and pipe my songs of Quilloquon — 

A dream-bird singin', or a rollin' drum. 

So, childers, come ! 

In this-yere fiddle-kit I keep my show 

What draws ye pictur's, as I draw my bow. 

And if I blow my flute, or twang a string. 

You shet your eyes and watch the sights I sing. — 

These theatre pieces — th' ain't jest in my way, 

But yere I'll show ye now — a ballad-play. 



(First Transition) 

[Thrumming low on his dulcimer, Quillo- 
quon begins to sing, in a quaint, sweet voice, 
while the shadowy space around him quivers and 
clouds with the dawn of a transforming scene. 

Beside him, The Little Girl and Boy — sit- 



20 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

ting on the ground — gaze up at him, and listen,] 

QUILLOQUON 

[Sings] 

There was a little ship in the North Amerikee, 
She went by the name of the Golden Libertee, 
As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 

0, red red was the dawn-shine that spangled in her 

spars, 
And blue was her wave-line beneath the morning stars, 
As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 

0, richer than the Indies the cargo that she bore 
Agliding up the stream by the sweet Potomeek's shore, 
As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 

Her cargo was of hearts, heaped as high as she could 

hold. 
Of men's hearts and women's hearts, more wonderful 

than gold. 
As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 

The red red hearts were burning her golden decks 

aboard ; 
Her Captain he was standing where cloudy eagles 
soared. 
As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 21 

The hearts they sang, the stars sang: "0 Captain of 

the Free, 
You have brought us through the tempest in our 

Golden Libertee, 
As she sails in the Low-de-lands low." 



SECOND ACTION 

(Induction) 

With the end of his song, a booming sound is heard, 
and QuiLLOQUON and the Children are seen sit- 
ting, in broad sunshine, on a long, low doorstep 
of stone beside the door of a grey-white, wide- 
clapboarded house. 

One end of the house only is visible, with a lower and 
an upper window, the green blinds open. On 
the right, this end of the house is connected by 
an arched, roofed colonnade (curving the centre 
background) with the end of a kitchen, corres- 
pondingly visible — with doorway and windows 
— on the* left. Between the door and lower 
window is a bench. Within the colonnade, an- 
other passage-way leads left in to the kitchen — 
its doorway unseen. 

The colonnade consists of double arches with col- 



22 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

umns, spaced and proportioned with noble sim- 
plicity and charm. Under its arches the eye 
looks away toward low, wooded hills and the 
placid blue bend of a river, panelled by the 
white columns. 

A broad road-path skirts the buildings and colonnade 
as far as the house doorstep, and defines by its 
curve a patch of lawn in the foreground. 

On this pathway and lawn — alone, or few in groups 
— Tourists are scattered; men and women, 
quietly standing, or passing with movements and 
voices subdued by spell of some unseen presence, 
which pervades with gentle awe the common- 
places of their speech and action. 

Some are Civilians; others are Soldiers, in American 
khaki, French light-blue, Scottish plaid, and 
other colours of the Allies'' uniforms. 

Now, through this scene, — when Quilloquon's re- 
frain ("As she sails in the Low-de-lands low^') 
has hardly ceased — a distant booming resounds. 

Some of the Tourists stand still and listen. 

Twice more the low booming is repeated, 

ONE IN KHAKI 

' What sound is that? — guns? 

A CIVILIAN 

A ship on the river. They always salute his home, 
where they pass on the Potomac. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 23 

A SECOND CIVILIAN 

[In another group.] 
Nearly two hundred years, you say? 

A THIRD CIVILIAN 

[Turning the pages of a book.] 
Yes: the date's in the guide-book. 

THE ONE IN KHAKI 

[To One in Light-Blue.] 
I have always wanted to stand here at Mt. Vernon 
— before I went over there. 

the one in light-blue 

[With a French accent,] 
I comprehend, lieutenant. 

THE THIRD CIVILIAN 

[Pointing in the book.] 
There you are: 1743: The present house was built 
then by his half brother — Lawrence Washington. 
Later, after George himself became proprietor, he 
made additions and improvements — before and after 
the Revolution. 

A FOURTH CIVILIAN 

He was bom down the river, on his mother's farm; 
but he came here to live as a boy. 



24 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

THE THIRD 

Used to fox-hunt with his neighbour, Lord Fairfax. 



THE ONE IN KHAKI 



[To The One in Light-Blue, pointing toward 
the house.] 
The key of your Bastile: it hangs in the hallway. 
When he was old, it was sent to him — by Lafayette. 

THE SECOND CIVILIAN 

[To The Fourth.] 
And so here he was a boy — and a man in his great 
prime — and here he died. 

the fourth 

Yes; and they say that the picture of Mt. Vernon 
was with him everywhere he went. 

THE THIRD 

You mean — a painting? Where is it kept — in the 
museum? 

THE FOURTH 

No: I fancy those children are looking at it. 

[His glance falls on The Little Girl and 
Boy, who are still sitting on the far end of the 
doorstep, while Quilloquon has drawn back in 
the shadow of a pillar. 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 25 

Two Officers — an Italian and a British — 
now come out of the house and are passing to- 
ward the colonnade, when they are saluted by the 
Officer in Light-Blue and pause, returning his 
salute,] 

THE ONE IN light-blue 

Ah, Messieurs les Colonels! Listen! Is not there 
I hear La Marseillaise? 

[Faintly, a distant band is heard playing the 
last strains of the Marseillaise chorus. 

Through the colonnade several Men pass off, 
bearing large wreaths of laurel.] 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Yes, the Envoys of the Allies have arrived. They 
will place their laurel wreaths on the General's tomb. 

THE ONE IN LIGHT-BLUE 

Bien: allons! 

THE THIRD CIVILIAN 

Come; let's go to the tomb. There will be speeches. 

THE FOURTH 
[Following quietly.] 
Yes — and there will be silence. 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

[Going, with the Italian and French Officers.^ 
The High Commissioner of England — yes. 



26 WASHINGTON [Prologue 

THE ITALIAN OFFICER i 

[With an accent,] | 

And the people of Garibaldi — they too remember. 
[They pass off through the colonnade, fol- 
lowed by the men Civilians.] 

AN ELDERLY WOMAN I 

[Walking slowly.] j 

The days don't last long. It'll be a lovely sunset. ^ 

A YOUNGER WOMAN i 

[Beside her.] 
And quite warm outdoors. Isn't this April just 
perfect at Mt. Vernon! 

THE ELDER 

[Pausing, as a whiff of breeze brings to their 
ears the first strains of '^America," played re- 
motely. ] 
I wonder what his mother would have thought. 

THE YOUNGER 

And his wife. I picked this sweet verbena in the 
kitchen garden. Let's take it to the tomb — from 
them, 

THE ELDER 

[Lifting the green leaves to her face, smiles 
back at the other.] 
Smells sweet — and it lasts. 

[They pass off through the colonnade.^ 



Prologue] WASHINGTON 27 

(Second Transition) 

QuiLLOQUON rises with the Children. 

They are alone now. 

With a smile and mysterious gesture, QuiLLO- 
QUON points with his fiddle-bow, off left, down 
the path, where a splotch of bright scarlet colour 
is approaching. 

Then, raising his bow, he begins to play very 
softly, taking up the melody of '^America," 
where the far off wind-instruments are playing it, 
as they die away. So — peering down the path, 
the Children pointing, with whispers — they tip- 
toe through the colonnade. There they linger 
momentarily (before going off, right) as along 
the path, left, two strangely costumed Persons 
enter, conversing. 

[End of Prologue. The Curtains do not 
close and the action proceeds with no interrup- 
tion,] 



28 WASHINGTON [Act I 



ACT I 
THIRD ACTION 

The Persons who enter are two Men — both in garb of 
the Middle Eighteenth Century, 

One, in bright scarlet riding-habit, is an alert short- 
sighted gentleman of about sixty, ruddy and ur- 
bane. 

The other, A Younger Man of about thirty — quiet- 
moving, large-framed, slightly stooped, his 
strong face pale — is clad, more dull, in working 
clothes, over which he wears the cloak of a Co- 
lonial Major, Occasionally he pauses, to check 
a slight coughing. 

The Elder Man speaks with gusto, twining his riding 
whip with a sprig of ivy, 

the elder man 
Ha, Lawrence, this April — heigh? — and young 
sap! Who wouldn't be alive, to go a-hunting? A 
clear horn and your horse limber, a live pack and 
the red devil for a fox, — why, here's old England 
even in your new world wilderness. Tom Fairfax 
never felt more at home in Yorkshire. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 29 

LAWRENCE 
Your lordship is always welcome at Mt. Vernon. 
I wish only a bad lung didn't keep me from the hunt. 

LORD FAIRFAX 
Clever hounds, yours, Major Washington, clever 
hounds! Throats chimed like bells in a belfry! Sir 
Roger de Coverley's weren't tuned more nice. But 
my beagles are quicker at the scent. 

LAWRENCE 
Have you rid far, Sir, today? 

FAIRFAX 

A good turn. I'll lay 't was twenty miles round 
before we run down old Reynard at Dogue's Creek. 
How I wish George had been along! He's the blue- 
ribbon lad in the saddle: a Virginian centaur! Aye, 
Sir, Master Addison could have drawn a pretty myth- 
ological portrait of George — the young centaur of 
Lost Atlantis! Damme, Major; I miss your brother. 

LAWRENCE 

We all do. He's been gone a month now, survey- 
ing your lordship's frontier lands. 

FAIRFAX 

One month? — one? It seems a dozen. I miss the 
boy. Ever since I've neighboured you at Belvoir, he 
and I — we've been old dog and pup. 



30 WASHINGTON [Act I 

LAWRENCE 

[Smiling,] 
You have watched the pup grow to match his paws, 
my lord. 

FAIRFAX 

Aye, 't is a big thoroughbred ! Sun-up and moon- 
down, indoors and out, books and brooks, we've trailed 
it together. Now he's gone, I'm clean off my feed. 

Ah, but, Lawrence, I can never tell thee how deep it 
grips me — the wonder of him. For me, he's your 
new world — the bigness of it, the young vigour, the 
large quiet, the bright far look-off towards an im- 
mense tomorrow. — George: my young George Wash- 
ington! What's he to do, eh? What's he to become? 

LAWRENCE 
That's on my own mind. Sir, constantly. Indeed, 
we've been holding a family council on George's 
career. Since he makes his home now with me, his 
mother has come over from her farm, to confer about 
it. 

FAIRFAX 

[Starting,] 
Madam Washington — here? 

LAWRENCE 
She arrived this morning. I wish your lordship 
would join us with your advice. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 31 

FAIRFAX 

Advice? — Now, now, Lawrence! I'm a daring 
man — but no Daniel! I was once presented to Queen 
Anne: I durst offer advice to the Majesty of Eng- 
land — but not to George's mother. 

LAWRENCE 

[Smiling,] 
For so quiet a person, she knows her own will, Sir. 

FAIRFAX 
Say, rather, the will of the elements. Madam 
Washington is more than a person — she is a presence. 
Hers is the majesty of Nature, to which mere man 
must bow. So as for giving family advice — 

LAWRENCE 

[Laughing, takes Fairfax's arm.] 
Well, Sir, stay the night with us anyway. 

[They go up the steps to the house door. 
Lord Fairfax enters the house, followed by 
Lawrence — his laughter constrained by cough- 
ing. 

From the side-door of the kitchen appears now 
a bright-turbanned Negress, bringing a copper 
kettle and a small tvooden box. She is followed 
down the steps by two half-naked little black 
children, whom she chases in again.] 



32 WASHINGTON [Act I 

THE NEGRESS 

Heah! Run 'long back, yo' chilluns; run 'long in, 



now. 



[Meanwhile, through the colonnade, from the 
right, have entered two picturesque persons, 
semi-military in appearance. 

One is a big, raw-boned figure, a Man of about 
forty, out at knee and elbow; he is comfortably 
drunk, and carries in one hand a small wooden 
coop, in which is a game-cock; when he talks, his 
speech has the broad drawl of a native back- 
woodsman. 

The Other — older, stocky, and Dutch-featured 
— carries two broadswords, which he fondles 
with visible affection. He enters, speaking with 
heated affirmation.^ 

THE DUTCHMAN 

No, tamn it. Master Adjutant Muse, game-cocks is 
no gentlemans' substitutes for proadswords. My tis- 
ciplines here is for to learn Master George Vashington 
— proadswords. And your tisciplines, Sir, is for to 
learn him his military manuals. 

MUSE 

[Saluting, bows very low.'\ 
Cap'n Van Bramm — your mos' obedient! Come 
along, then, and have some rum punch. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 33 

[Backing toward the inner kitchen door, he 
stumbles against the Negress.] 
Kep' it hot, eh, Mammy Sal? 

MAMMY SAL 

Waitin' right inside, Marse Muse, ri'chover by da 
chimbley. 

MUSE 

All right, Jacob: Ain't that Dutch treat 'nough 
for gentry? 

VAN BRAMM 
Aye, Sir: rum punch is tamn all right Tutch. 

[They go into the kitchen. 

Out side y Mammy Sal squats on the ground 
and begins leisurely to clean and burnish the 
copper kettle with fine sand from the box. 

Along the path, left, enters quietly a Woman of 
quaint stateliness, elderly and alert. Of middle 
height, with features pleasing but strongly 
marked, she is dressed plainly in short skirt, 
sack and mob-cap. From one of her great side- 
pockets protrude knitting needles and yarn. In 
one hand she carries a garden rake. When she 
speaks, her low voice is musical in its cadence, 
absolute in its command.] 

THE WOMAN 

Mammy Sal! 



34 WASHINGTON [Act I 

MAMMY SAL 

[Jumping up.] 
Howdy evenin', Missy Washin'n! 

MARY WASHINGTON 

Has my son, Master George, come home yet? 

MAMMY SAL 

No 'm, Missy Washin'n, — not him. • 

MARY WASHINGTON 

I have been taking a turn round the buildings. 
Who left this rake in the dairy? 

MAMMY SAL 

[With awe.] 
De Lo'd he know all, Missy Washin'n. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[Handing the rake.] 
Take it to the tool house. — Wait: 

[Pulling from one of her pockets two strips 
of coloured cloth.] 
Who has been weaving this cotton-jump stripe, and 
this huccabac? 

MAMMY SAL 
Dunno 'm. Sophronie, she might-a-be'. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

I found them in the kitchen-garden. Who is re- 
sponsible? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 35 

MAMMY SAL 

Dunno who-all, Missy Washin'n. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

What do you know, Mammy Sal? 

MAMMY SAL 

Knows ma Sabba-day chatachasm; yas 'm! 

MARY WASHINGTON 

That 's good. And if / was Mistress of Mt. Ver- 
non, Mammy, I would learn you your week-day chat- 
echism. 

MAMMY SAL 

Yas 'm. — Amen! 

[Mary Washington goes in to the house. 
Mammy Sal starts to go off, left, with the 
rake, but — glancing back at the house door — 
pauses, leans the rake against the building, and 
slowly returns,] 

MAMMY SAL 

Oh, by 'n by! 

[She begins a low singing:] 

"I know my robe goin' ter fit me well. — 
Vm. agoin' ter lay down de heabby load. 

"I tried it on at de gates ob hell. — 

I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load." 



36 WASHINGTON [Act I 

[Picking up the copper kettle, she begins to 
thrum and beat on it to her song, swaying ker 
body in rhythmic motion.^ 

"Oh, by-an'-by, by-an'-by, 

I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load! 

"Oh, by-an'-by, by-an'-by, 

I'm agoin' ter lay down de heabby load!" 

[While the black Woman, in her scarlet tur- 
ban and yelloiv garment, increases her dance to 
the burnished kettle's music, the immense Figure 
of an Indian moves in to the colonnade, from 
behind the kitchen building, and stands sil- 
houetted against the brightening sunset. 

In long, red blanket, overtopped by high, 
white- feathered headdress flowing behind to the 
ground, his painted wooden mask turns enigmat- 
ical eyes toward the dancing Negress. 

For a moment the Mammy does not behold 
this Figure, who watches, motionless. Then — 
in deep, guttural voice — it speaks.} 

THE FIGURE 

Woman! 

MAMMY SAL 

[Transfixed — drops the kettle, with a stifled 
cry.] 
Angel ob de Abysm! 



Act I] WASHINGTON 37 

THE FIGURE 

Woman! Canst thou fill the hollow places of hun- 
ger? 

MAMMY SAL 

[Sinking to her knees.] 
Marse Abaddon, what his name is ApoUyonl 

THE FIGURE 

Mammy Sal! Canst thou cook com pone? 

MAMMY SAL 

yas 'r, Marse Apollyon! 

THE FIGURE 

Corn pone, and roast fowl therewith, and sturgeon 
broiled? 

MAMMY SAL 

yas 'r, glory salvation! Fse sassafras fire an' 
beech-nut coals, what '11 cook 'em gran' on de spit. 

THE FIGURE 

Rise up, then. Mammy Sal, and be thou numbered 
among the saints ! 

[From behind the mask explodes a loud roar 
of laughter. 

Then — dropping off the blanket, feathers and 
painted face — a tall, greatdimbed Youth, with 
glowing face and light-brown hair grown long, 
steps forth in mud-spattered gear and boots of a 
backwoodsman. 



38 WASHINGTON [Act I 

Pointing with a surveyor s tripod at the 
aghast Woman, he shouts with huge, boyish de- 
light. 

For an instant, Mammy Sal stares dumbly, 
then leaps up with a scream of welcome,] 

MAMMY SAL 

Marse George! Ah-ya! honey Marse George! 

GEORGE WASHINGTON 
[Roaring with laughter.] 
Oho-ho, Mammy Sal! Scart ye, did I? 

MAMMY SAL 

'Lijah an' prophets, honey ! Whar yo' done git all 
dat debbel-Injun truck? 

GEORGE 

Swapped it off a redskin, up country. What all's 
the good news at home? 

MAMMY SAL 

Marse George come home: dat all's de good news. 
My, my! honey belubed: yo' feet upon de mountins, 
dey's beautifu' 's de lilies ob de fiel'. 

GEORGE 
Never mind my muddy boots. Mammy. Just mind 
my belt strap — and that com pone. I've been a-fast- 
in' since sun-up. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 39 

[Stooping behind the kitchen colonnade, he 
lifts forth a gun, knapsack and kit, from which 
he detaches two large limp birds,] 
Here; run along and cook these wild turkeys 
I shot. And mind: — corn-pone — roast-fowl — stur- 
geon — 

MAMMY SAL 

Broil' wid de sassafras fire! Ri'choff, honey! 

[Seizing up her kettle, she is rushing in at the 
kitchen inner door, when a dog bolts past her 
there from inside and springs toward young 
Washington.] 
My Lo'd ! heah 's yo' Mopsey-houn' ! 
[She disappears within.] 

GEORGE 

[Patting and fondling the hound.] 
Halloa, Mopsey, Mopsey gal! Well, well, old 
Mopsey mine: ain't forgot your master? 

[Squatting on the ground, he rolls over, laugh- 
ing and playing with the dog.] 
Come here, you darling bitch; kiss me quick! 
Aha ! get away : quit your slather in'. What you nosin' 
for — maple sugar? 

[Sitting up, he pulls out some maple sugar, 
and holds it teasingly.] 
Here: have a lick, old Mops! How's all the dog- 
gone family? How's Musick and Pilot and True- 
love? And the pupsies: where's little Chaunter 



40 WASHINGTON [Act I 

and Tipsy? Has your ladyship weaned 'em? 
[Adjutant Muse comes stumbling down 
from the kitchen inner doorway, followed by 
Van Bramm. The former carries a long punch- 
glass, from which he is drinking.] 

MUSE 

Tipsy, says he! Listen thar, Jacob! 

VAN BRAMM 

[Spying George.] 
Veil, de tefel! — Master George Vashington! God 
save you and tamn you, and velcome you pack! 

GEORGE 

[Still fondling the dog.] 
God save you both, gentlemen, and pardon me not 
rising. Mopsey has the floor, you see. 

VAN BRAMM 

And how is vent all your surveyings and vorks in 
de vildemess? 

GEORGE 

'Twas a grand trip, Cap'n: big woods, March 
winds, wonderful mountains, villainous weather. 
Forty miles a day, lots of work and lousy nights. 

[He lifts himself up on the bench, where he 
feeds the dog maple sugar.] 

VAN BRAMM 

Ah! nights it was lousy — so? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 41 

GEORGE 
Aye, Sir, indoors we catched some big game. In 
the loggers' huts, that was. The first night, I stripped 
off and laid me on a bunk in the dark — pitch black. 
Then begun the campaign: the March of the Legions, 
I called it. Tell about David among the Philistines! 
I'll lay a doubloon I slew ten score o' Goliahs. After 
that, I swore off on beds, and slept out nights by the 
fire. 

VAN BRAMM 

On de ground? And vild peasts all apout? 

MUSE 
Why not, Dutchy? Bear baitin' 's bigger sport 
than flea stalkin'. 

[Offering his punch-glass.^ 
— George, have a swig! 

VAN BRAMM 

Master Adjutant Muse, you are trunk; and trunk 
is no manual tisciplines for young gentlemans. — Look 
now, Master George; here pe our veapons: vill you 
practise? 

MUSE 

[Loudly.^ 
Jury! A jury, says I! George, I appoint you 
gran' juiy. — Who's drunk? What's the verdict? 

GEORGE 

[Rising, with a laugh.] 
Nay, Master Adjutant, I plead non compos. 



42 WASHINGTON [Act I 

Having had no punch, I beg your indulgence. 

MUSE 

[Flourishing his empty glass.] 
Indulgence? — Indulgence is a fair verdict. — A 
mos' hon'rable gran' jury! Jacob, — George begs 
my indulgence in s' more punch. — Your mos' obed- 
ient! 

[Bowing unsteadily, he goes in to the kitchen. 
The dog follows him in.] 

VAN BRAMM 

[Handing George one of his swords.] 
And now, young Sir, you is rememper your posi- 
tions — yes? 

GEORGE 

I guess so, Cap'n; though they ain't exactly Injun 
tactics. 

VAN BRAMM 

No, tamn it: proadswords is tactics of Christian 
gentries. Gif me my proadsword and my piple, and 
I vill learn you ampitions pigger as de vorld and 
de kingdoms of heaven dereof . 

GEORGE 

Thank you, Captain; but my ambitions are no big- 
ger than Mt. Vernon. 



• » 



Act I] WASHINGTON 43 

VAN BRAMM 

Ah? And ven some odder young gentleman vill 
insult your honour, and tefy you to a tuel — ^vat? 

GEORGE 

My honour is my own, Sir, and not another's. I 
would call the young gentleman an ass, and invite 
him to wrastle me. 

VAN BRAMM 

My poy, mark my vords! No man can tell ven 
vill come his testiny to fight. Vone day yet you vill 
tank God on your knees down for old Jacob Van 
Bramm and his proadswords. 

GEORGE 

I thank him now. Sir, on my feet. Will you show 
me those positions? 

VAN BRAMM 

Ah! — positions is petter! 

[Drawing himself up with military precision, 

he demonstrates the sword positions and strokes, 

while George watches, attentive.^ 
Vone — so; two — and so; t'ree — and so. Pegin, 



now! 



[They practise together the broadsword exer- 
cises. 

George strikes and parries with carefulness 
and quick decision. 



44 WASHINGTON [Act I 

The blades clatter briskly, amid occasional 
sharp and gay interjections. 

Soon the house door opens and Lord Fairfax 
steps out, peering shortsightedly.] 

FAIRFAX 
What's the racket there? Who's that? — George! 
Him! [Calling back.] Lawrence! He's come; 
'tis George. [Hastening forward. ] Lad ! My dear 
lad! { 

GEORGE 

[Turning round.] 
Ha — your lordship! 

FAIRFAX 

Home again! [He grasps George's hand.] 
Grips, laddie, grips! Nay, both on 'em! 

[George tosses his sword away, and gives his 
other hand.] 

VAN BRAMM 
[Picking the sword up.] 
Tamn! 

[After a moment, he goes off, grumbling.] 

GEORGE 
I'm right happy to see you, my lord. 

FAIRFAX 

[Rapping him with his knuckles.] 
Sound? safe? solid all through? No mishaps? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 45 

GEORGE 

None, Sir. 

FAIRFAX 

And your trip? 

GEORGE 

Oh, a grand trip, Sir! Over the Blue Ridge, and 
up the Shenandoah valley. Your lordship's estates 
are all surveyed. I've fetched you home a map in my 
kit. 

LAWRENCE 

[Appearing in the house doorway, calls,] 
Brother George ! 

GEORGE 
[Waving to him.] 
Halloa, brother Lawrence! 

FAIRFAX 

[To George, portentously.] 
Hearkee: he's fetching your mother. 'Tis a con- 
clave. We're settling your future career! 

GEORGE 

Mine? 

LAWRENCE 

[To Mary Washington, who comes down the 
steps with him.] 
There he is. 

[Spying his Mother, George hastens toward 



46 WASHINGTON [Act I 

her with eager affection. Meeting, they greet 
each other with a controlled gladness.^ 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[Giving her hand, speaks low,^ 
George, my dear son. 

GEORGE 

[Awkwardly kisses her hand; then looks in 
her face.] 
Madam, I hope you are well. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

I am very well, George. Your shirt is wet and 
very muddy. 

GEORGE 

Aye, Madam, 'tis; the creek was muddy; I swam 
over. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

You will need some cherry cordial. Come in. 

LAWRENCE 

Your pardon. Madam, for a moment; I will first 
help George in with his kit. Will your lordship be 
so good — ? 

FAIRFAX 
[Visibly flustered, offers his arm.] 
Mistress Washington, your son appears to have 
done nobly. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 47 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[Intensely serene.] 
Appears, Sir? 

[Unnoticing his proffered arm, she walks 
beside him toward the house door.li 

FAIRFAX 

[Fidgeting.] 
He tells me he has surveyed all my estates in the 
wilderness. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[Simply.] 
Then, Sir, 'tis so. 

FAIRFAX 

[Stammering.] 
In four weeks. Madam, — four weeks — that is really 
astonishing. 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[With gracious finality.] 
Not at all. Sir. George always does what he sets 
out to do. 

[Calling back from the doorstep.] 
George, there's dry shirts in your second drawer. 
Make haste and shift. [She goes in.] 

FAIRFAX 

[Following her, murmurs audibly.] 
Shade of Queen Anne, succour thy subject! 



48 WASHINGTON [Act I 

[As George stoops to pick up his kit, Law- 
rence stands for a moment silent — looking off 
through the colonnade, where the twilight colours 
are deepening in the distance. 

When he speaks, George turns at his tone, 
and approaches him, quietly anxious J^ 

LAWRENCE 

George, before we go in, I've wanted a word with 
you. 

GEORGE 
You are troubled, brother Lawrence! What is 
it? — What's in your mind for me? 

LAWRENCE 

{Dreamily.^ 
This, George: home — Mt. Vernon. That's in my 
mind for you, always. Look, a moment: look away 
down the river — ^the bend, there, in the sunset: quiet, 
full of God's lire. 

GEORGE 
'T is very quiet. 

LAWRENCE 

Yet it moves on, always. — George, what is 
home? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 49 

GEORGE 

Why, this, where we stand — ^here. 
LAWRENCE 

[With strangeness.^ 
Aye, and there, where we look off — ^that bend in 
the river, moving on — always. So quiet! yet far 
down there's the sea, the roar of great waters — the 
sea, that leads out to Europe — the whole world, and 
the stars over it. 

GEORGE 

[Gently.^ 
Why do you speak like this? 

LAWRENCE 
[With sudden impulse.] 
George — what are you to be? 



GEORGE 
[Puzzled.] 



I? 



LAWRENCE 
Our father's father his father came first up that 
river. For a hundred years, this valley has been 
home and country to our race ; and for them the river 
was moving on then, like now — quiet, full of God's 
fire at sundown. So it always moves on — and re- 
mains. So does our home, and our country. 



50 WASHINGTON [Act I 

GEORGE 

[Broodingly,] 
Home, and our country. [Starting,] But what 
makes you say this to me? 

LAWRENCE 

George, one day Mt. Vernon may be yours — not 
mine. Aye, sooner than later, for this one lung of 
mine can't serve me much longer. 

GEORGE 

Your lung? 

LAWRENCE 

When you were away, the doctor tested me. 

GEORGE 

Lawrence! 

LAWRENCE 
[Smiling faintly.] 
I won't last. So I asked your mother to come over, 
and confer about you. 

GEORGE 

Me! i 

LAWRENCE 

Your career. They're discussing it now, in there: 
England, America, army, navy, the country: which 



Act I] WASHINGTON 51 

would you choose yourself, George: sea, sword, or 
the soil? 

GEORGE 

Me? The mud on my boots, Lawrence: this soil 
of America — home. Farming for me! 

LAWRENCE 

Ah, so I guessed. God bless you, George! Mt. 
Vernon is a good farm. 

GEORGE 

We will make it still better. 

LAWRENCE 

We will? 

GEORGE 

Us both. We'll plan it out together — soon. 

LAWRENCE 

[Murmurs.] 
Soon. 

GEORGE 

I will make a survey, and we'll study improvements. 
[The house door opens,] 

MARY WASHINGTON 

[Calls from the doorway,] 
George! When are you coming in? 'T is grow- 
ing dark. 



52 WASHINGTON [Act I 

GEORGE 

Directly, Madam. 

[The door closes. 

Together they go toward the doorstep. 

Behind them, as they go, — panelled momen- 
tarily by the central arch of the colonnade — a 
Dim-Red Figure, mysteriously cloaked and 
cowled, blends obscurely with the last dull red 
of the sunset.] 

LAWRENCE 
[Pausing at the doorway.] 
Brother, your hand! How quiet the dark comes 

|T Pan vmi lip»ar anv sminrl'? 



orouier, your naiiu: now 
on! — Can you hear any sound? 



GEORGE 
[Slowly — listening. ] 
Yes — I can hear frogs piping. — That swamp by the 
creek must be drained. 

[Darkness deepens over the scene, as vaguely 
th3ir dim forms pass within. 



(Third Transition) 

Now only the piping of frogs is heard. 
Now the piping takes on a peculiar flute-like 
one, and grows musically louder, assuming the 



Act I] WASHINGTON 53 

notes of a melody — the tune of Bangry Rewy 
ballad. 

And now the fluting ceases, as the voice of 
QuiLLOQUON begins to sing:] 

QUILLOQUON 

Bangry Rewy acourting did ride, 3 

His sword and pistol by his side. 

Cambokey, 

Quiddledown, quilloquon! 

Bangry rode to the wild boar's den 
And spied the bones of a thousand men. 

Cambokey, 

Quiddledown, quilloquon! 

There Bangry drew his warring knife 
And speared the wild boar of his life. 

Cambokey, 

Quiddledown, quilloquon! 

Then Bangry rode him home again 
Amid the cheers of a thousand men. — 

[From the dark, excited Voices begin to shout: 
*'Hurrah! Hurrah!^' and the voice of Quillo- 
quon grows shriller as he sings: 

Cambokey! 

And now — in a sudden burst of golden sun- 
shine — the cocked hat and face of the Singer 



54 WASHINGTON [Act I 

are seen disappearing round the corner of the 
kitchen, left, flipping out the final refrain: 
Quiddledown, quilloquon! 



FOURTH ACTION 

Meanwhile through the colonnade, right, three Girls 
and a young Man — all about twenty — come 
running on, shouting in gay excitement: '^ Hur- 
rah! Colonel Washington!" 

They are accompanied by a soldierly Fellow, in rusty 
British uniform. 

THE FIRST GIRL 

Colonel Washington! Colonel Washington! 

THE SECOND 

Where is the hero of the Monongahela? 

THE THIRD 

Run, George Fairfax: find him for us. Tell him 
the three Graces are come to laurel-crown him for 
his glorious survival of the French and Indians. 

GEORGE FAIRFAX 

And you think that will fetch him? Ladies, you 
miscalculate your hero. He may face the arms of a 



Act I] WASHINGTON 55 

thousand fighting men, but the arms of three wor- 
shipping females — never! I'll tell him three ancient 
market-women are come to purchase his vegetables. 
[Laughing, he runs off, left.] 

THE SECOND GIRL 

Scurrilous man! "Ancient," indeed! 

THE THIRD 

He'll announce us as the weird witches, with humps 
and broomsticks. 

THE FIRST 

Ann Spearing, Elizabeth Dent, bow ye down with 
envy! Here on this spot, even I, Sally Fairfax of 
Belvoir, once played "Button to get Pawns for Re- 
demption" with the renowned George Washington, 
and redeemed the pawns — with kisses! 

ANN 

(The Second.) 
Sally! 

ELIZABETH 

(The Third.) 
You kissed the master of Mt. Vernon? 

SALLY 

Not the master then: that was long before his 
brother Lawrence died — when George was a cub, 
and I was a kitten. 



56 WASHINGTON [Act I 

ANN 
Tush! I will envy no felines. [Showing a mili- 
tary coat which she carries.^ Behold our hero's coat, 
that Bishop here poached for me! In this he fought 
when Braddock fell; in this he fought, leading our 
glorious Virginians, while the yelling savages fired 
from the woods, and the stupid regulars ran away in 
their red coats. [Turning to the Man in British uni- 
form.^ Am not I right. Bishop? 

BISHOP 

Aye, ma'am: you can see four bullet-holes there, 
was shot in it then. 

ELIZABETH 

[Examining the coat with Sally.] 
How awful! And his horse was shot under him, 
you say? 

BISHOP 

Two horses, ma'am. Then he mounted a third, 
what I fetched him. That un belonged to my old Gen- 
eral Braddock, what the General, just afore he died, 
he give Colonel Washington — and me to go along 
in his sarvice. 

ANN 
Think of it, girls: the whole king's army routed — 
seven hundred killed and wounded — and only our 
despised American militia to give real fight to the 
enemy. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 57 

BISHOP 

Right enough, ma'am: your Virginia boys they 
fought back o' trees, like the Injuns. Clever they 
was! I'm a red-coat, but I says it: If my old Gen- 
eral he'd a-took the Colonel's advice, we'd a-never 
been licked. 

ANN 

And now the whole colony is calling for Colonel 
Washington to raise a new army. 

ELIZABETH 

[Flourishing her wreath of wild laurel,] 
Oh, where is he? I'm just dying to crown him! 

SALLY 

Here's Humphrey Knight, his farmer; he'll know. 

[Through the colonnade, right, a Man about 
thirty, in working clothes, is entering with an 
older Man about fifty, wearing a Miller s sack, 
Sally speaks to the younger Man.] 

Humphrey, where is Colonel Washington? 

HUMPHREY 

Well, ma'am, you might find him to the red bam, 
and then — you mightn't. 

ELIZABETH 

Come on, girls: hurry! 



58 WASHINGTON [Act I 

ANN 

Wait for me! — I've a Latin quotation to go with 
that laurel. 

[They run off, left. 

Following Humphrey, several Negroes enter, 
carrying a long wooden box, divided in six open 
compartments, with supporting timbers to stand 
on,'] 

HUMPHREY 

Set her thar, boys, and wait for orders. Marse 
Washington he'll be along soon. 

[The Negroes set down the box, and seat them- 
selves beside the kitchen building, in the left 
background, where they commence a low, 
drowsy singing among themselves, 

Humphrey — leaning against one of the colon- 
nade pillars — takes from his pocket one of sev- 
eral wooden pins, and begins to whittle it smooth, 
speaking to his companion,] 

Hot weather, William. 

WILLIAM 
[Pulling his fingers uneasily.] 
Aye; 'tis warm waitin'. 

HUMPHREY 

Waitin' for who-all? — him? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 59 

WILLIAM 

Aye, him. 

HUMPHREY 
[Curious.^ 
For what-all? 

WILLIAM 

[Importantly reticent.} 
Confidential. 

HUMPHREY 

Oh!— Mill ain't runnin'? 

WILLIAM 

[Shaking his head.] 
She's gone dry. 

[Turning the conversation to the box.] 
What's this-yere? 

HUMPHREY 

Seed plantin' outfit. 

WILLIAM 

This late a-season? 

HUMPHREY 
War times, he takes his seasons when he catches 
'em. Sperriments, William: sperriments in soil mix- 
in's for wheat, oats and barley. The Comal he's goin' 
in deep. 



60 WASHINGTON [Act I 

WILLIAM 

Aye; he do that. 

HUMPHREY 
Six compartments, you see, all numbered orderly. 
Each one we mixes different — like marie and half 
marie, mud and earth sandish, cow dung, sheep dung, 
clay and such like. — Look; he's a-comin' now with 
river muck. 

WILLIAM 

Who's with 'm? 

HUMPHREY 
Yon's Cap'n John Posey — come round, I reckon, to 
borrer more cash off the Cornal. 

[Through the colonnade, right, Washington 
enters wheeling a hand-barrow, containing black 
earth and cloth bags. He wears an old straw 
hat and farming clothes. Seeing Humphrey 
and the box, he sets down the barrow, and re- 
moves his hat, mopping heavily his sun-reddened 
face. 

He is close followed by Captain John Posey, 
a pleasant-faced, out-at-ends country squire 
about forty, clothed with an indigent elegance. 
He toys irresolutely with a bone-topped cane, 
and speaks with a gentle drawling^] 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Col. George, don't that wheelin' make ye perspire? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 61 

WASHINGTON 

Sweat buckets, Sir, thank God! [Pointing to the 
barrow.] Humphrey, how's that? [To the Miller 
who, with Humphrey, has pulled off his cap.] Good 
day, William. 

WILLIAM 
[Pulling his forelock.] 
Aye, your honour! 

HUMPHREY 

[Testing a chunk of earth from the barrow 
with his fingers.] 
Right smart muck I calls it, Comal. 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

I'd a-thought now, Col. George, — I'd a-thought 
a-wheelin' dirt was work for niggers. 

WASHINGTON 

Dirt, Cap'n John! This here is wealth of the In- 
dies — gold ore. Sir. Humphrey and me we've struck 
a mine down the creek; eh, Humphrey? 

HUMPHREY 

So we hopes, Sir. 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Then I'm in luck. Colonel. I come over to ask 
your advice. 



62 WASHINGTON [Act I ^ 

WASHINGTON 

Gold ore advice, Cap'n? 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Well, kind o' mixed: lucre and love combined: 
Mammon and Venus, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Laughing.] 
That sounds like a love match! 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

[Solemnly.] 
Wait till you hear. [Glancing at Humphrey and 
William.] Could I state my case — confidential? 

WASHINGTON 

Of course; certainly. 

[Exchanging a look with Humphrey, who 

grins, he moves off with Captain John toward 

the house.] 
What's your case, Cap'n? 

CAPTAIN JOHN 
Why, Col. George, as you pretty well know, I'm 
hard up, but I could a-been able to have satisfied all 
my old arrears some months ago by marrying an old 
widow woman in this county. She has large sums o' 
cash by her, and pretty good estate. . 

f 

k 



Act I] WASHINGTON 63 

WASHINGTON 

Sounds promising. 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Yes, but damme — 

WASHINGTON 

What's wrong? 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Well, Sir, she's as thick as she is high, and she gits 
drunk at least three or four a week, which is disagree- 
able to me, seein' when drunk she has a viliant sperrit. 
So it's been a great dispute in my mind what to do. 

WASHINGTON 
Too risky? 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

Why, Sir, if my last wife had a-been an even-tem- 
pered woman, I believe I should run all risks; but her 
sperrit has given me such a shock, I'm afraid to run 
the risk again. Yet, damme, I must marry right soon, 
bein' hard up. For short, Col. George, could you 
advise me? 

WASHINGTON 
Well, for short, Cap'n John, if you must marry and 
time presses, here at least are ready assets: one avail- 
able widow, with cash and estate, sober three days in 



64 WASHINGTON [Act I 

the week. The other days, Sir, you are very welcome 
at Mt. Vernon. 

CAPTAIN JOHN 
[As they turn again toward the wheelbarrow,^ 
Right neighbourly, Colonel; I call that downright 
neighbourly. 

WASHINGTON 

So, Sir, if you should yield to Venus, I will propi- 
tiate Mammon with twenty bales of tobacco. Hum- 
phrey here will give you my order for 'em when the 
chimes ring. 

[Taking out a note pad, he writes on it,^ 

CAPTAIN JOHN 
[Striking an oratorical attitude, '\ 
Col. George, posterity will beatify your name. Sir, 
as the best neighbour in the Potomac valley. — I will 
yield to Venus, Sir; I will yield promptly. 
[He goes off, left.] 

WASHINGTON 

[Handing a slip of paper to Humphrey.] 
Memorandum for Captain John Posey. 

[Turning to the Miller.] 
Now, William, you have a report for me on the 
mill? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 65 

WILLIAM 

[Looking hard at the cap in his hands, twists 
it with slow fidgeting,] 
Aye, your honour — without offence — confidential. 

WASHINGTON 
Oh! — certainly. 

[With a wink at Humphrey, he walks away a 
few paces with the Miller. While they stand 
conversing together, the Negroes continue, more 
loud, their drowsy singing. After a moment, 
Washington shakes the Miller's hand, with a 
smile, and speaks to him cheerfully as they re- 
turn to Humphrey.] 
All right, friend William, I am pleased with your 
services. Call at my bam office tomorrow morning at 
quarter past five punctual. 

WILLIAM 

Thank ye kindly, Cornal — me and the mill too! 

[He goes off through the colonnade, left, smil- 
ing and muttering to himself. 

Washington looks at Humphrey, and both 
grin broadly,] 

WASHINGTON 

Confidential, Humphrey, where are you taking our 
experiment box? 



66 WASHINGTON [Act I 

HUMPHREY 

Thought likely, Sir, you'd have her set by the green- 
house. 

cV WASHINGTON 

Quite right. [To one of the Negroes,] Here, 
Zekiel, you and Isaiah tote this along. I 

ZEKIEL 

Yas'r, massa. 

[The Negroes lift the box and start off with 
it,] 

WASHINGTON 

Wait. [To Humphrey.] You understand, when 
we fill these compartments, the different soils must be 
mixed very fine with the manures. [Lifting a sack 
from the barrow,] We can use a bag like this, to 
jabble all well together before using. 

HUMPHREY 

I get ye, Cornal. 

WASHINGTON 
Then in each division we plant three grains of 
wheat, three of oats, and three of barley — all at equal 
distance and depth. I'll show you later. Run along 
now, Zekiel. How's little Jerry and his Mammy? 

ZEKIEL 

Oh, dey's right smartish, massa. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 67 

WASHINGTON 

Tell Jerry I fetched him home a rattler's skin, with 
nine rattles. 

ZEKIEL 

Golly! nine fotches de luck; Fse tell 'm, massa: he 

sho pop 'is eyes wif ticklement, yas'r! 

[He goes out, left, with the box. 

For a moment, Washington stands gazing off; 
then, dropping the sack in the barrow, he turns 
suddenly and strides back and forth, stretching 
his arms ivith relish in the sunlight.^ 

WASHINGTON 

Ho, Humphrey, Humphrey, here's the life! By 
the etarnal, 'tis grand to get back home to real living 
again! War is a silly interruption of farming. 

HUMPHREY 

It do set us back, Cornal. 

WASHINGTON 

More than some great folks guess. If every king 
would raise his own vegetables, our military manuals 
might all be almanacks. Here's the kings of France 
and England, now, warring for a new world, and me 
helping his British Majesty, God save him, to prove 
his argument with gunpowder; and meantime, Hum- 
phrey, here's our home ploughing is full of stumps, 
and the old swamp only half drained! 



68 WASHINGTON [Act I 

HUMPHREY 

Gunpowder, they say, is rare snuff for the gentry, 
Sir. 

WASHINGTON 
Yes, yes, it hets the blood, man, like rum punch! 
I've knowed days myself when I'd rather hear the 
bullets whistling than the robins, and a tom-tom drum- 
ming than a partridge. For all that, gunpowder is 
poor truck for farmers: 'tis a hot snuff, but a cold 
fertilizer. [He looks at Humphrey whittling,] 
What's that — a timber pin? 

HUMPHREY 

Aye, Sir; for the new cow shed. 

WASHINGTON 
[Taking out a pocket knife.] 
Let me finish it. Have a seat. I've something to 
say to you. 

HUMPHREY 

[Taking another piece of wood from his 
pocket, sits on the bench. ] 
Thank ye, Sir. 

[Washington sits on the bag in the wheel- 
barrow. 

For a while, both whittle in silence; then 
Washington — without looking up — speaks 
slowly.] 



Act I] WASHINGTON 69 

WASHINGTON 

Humphrey, — do you ever find it hard to express 
yourself? 

HUMPHREY 

Never find it nothin' else, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

I guess 'tis mostly so. I guess that all the elo- 
quence of the prophets is just to proclaim man's 
dumbness. As for me, Humphrey, to get back from 
war and watch plants growing — 'tis like getting back 
to the first garden, and talking with the Almighty in 
his own language — wonder, not words. 

HUMPHREY 

'Tis a kind of sarvice, Sir, without the preacher. I 
often thought that. 

WASHINGTON 
Just so. And so I guess we can rightly call it that 
gardening — real gardening — is the Word of God. 
And there's three great tilings, Humphrey, in that 
religion: first, there's quiet; and second, there's order; 
and third, there's growth. Quiet, order, growth: 
there, I believe, is sound faith for a man or a nation. 

HUMPHREY 

I inkles your meanin', Sir. 



70 WASHINGTON [Act I 

WASHINGTON 

'Tis a big meaning. Here's our country, America 
— a big acre to garden: Not just the clearing, stump- 
ing, fencing, furrows to turn; not just ditching and 
ploughing God's earth, mixing of soils: 'tis the right, 
planting, Humphrey — planting and mixing of men, 
aye, and the weeding — the sowing and harvest of 
peace and war. 

HUMPHREY 

Judgin', Sir, by public meetin's in war times, there's 
some would plough with their tongues, and harrer with 
their wind-pipes. 

WASHINGTON 

Aye — quiet hell with hullaballoo: 'tis a common 
instinct. God puts in each man and nation one great 
desire — for liberty, liberty to grow: so most of us 
begin by grabbing our neighbour's garden — by the 
Grace of God. 

HUMPHREY 
Livin' together is sure kind of a tarnal tangle-patch. 
What do you reckon. Sir, is the way out? 

WASHINGTON 

Order — the order of liberty: and that means 
method and will to practise the love of our neighbour. 
Order, Humphrey, is the most beautiful thing in crea- 
tion. 'T was God's command to chaos. 

[Through the colonnade, left, re-enter the 



Act I] WASHINGTON 71 

three Girls and Bishop. Tiptoeing behind the 
pillars, they peep out and listen.] 

HUMPHREY 

I wish you was home more oftener, Comal. A 
feller would raise more out o' farmin' — and you 
along to talk with. 

WASHINGTON 

Somehow talking comes easier here — along with a 
few home folks. Out there fighting, they call me a 
shut-mouth man. 

HUMPHREY 

[With a chuckle. '\ 
You, Sir? That is a good un! 

WASHINGTON 

Anyhow, here I am — home, and now, Humphrey, 
we'll right enough farm it, eh? I've a new plan to 
tell you about cattle feeding. Listen here: If we 
should fat one bullock altogether with potatoes, an- 
other with Indian meal, and a third — 

[Shrill cries break short his speaking. 
With a rush from the colonnade, the three 
Girls, followed by Bishop, surround the tvheel- 
barrow, where Elizabeth — from behind — waves 
high the laurel wreath, and lowers it on Wash- 
ington's head.] 



72 WASHINGTON [Act I 

I 

ANN AND SALLY 

Crown him! Crown him! 



ELIZABETH 

Hail to the hero of battles! 

WASHINGTON 

[Rising, flustered.] 
Ladies! 

,ANN 

Laurels for the temple of Mars! 

ELIZABETH 

Oh, don't take it off! 

WASHINGTON 
[Removing the wreath from his brow, looks at 
it, and stutters.] 
L-ladies — 

SALLY 

George! How wonderful to be a real triumvirate! 

WASHINGTON 

A what, Sally? 

SALLY 

A Roman warrior with three lives, and a horse 
apiece. 



Act I] WASHINGTON 73 

ANN 

[With a grand courtesy. '\ 
Exitus acta probat! 

WASHINGTON 
Beg pardon? 

ANN 

That's the motto on your shield of arms. I'm sure 
it must fit — it sounds so glorious: Exitus acta — 

SALLY 

Be quiet, Ann! George, now, tell us all about 
the bloodshed. — But do come away from that dirty 
wheelbarrow. 

ELIZABETH 

Please tell us! 

ANN 

Everything! — Don't hold back the worst, will you? 

WASHINGTON 
Ladies, everything to oblige! Where shall I 
begin? You have heard, I believe, of my death and 
dying speech — 

SALLY 

Oh, several versions of each. 



74 WASHINGTON [Act I 

WASHINGTON 

Permit me, then, to correct the former, while I com- 
pose the latter. 

[He attempts to withdraw.] 

ELIZABETH AND ANN 

No, no! You can't run. Go on! 

WASHINGTON 
Next, ladies, I will narrate how our conquering 
army was tamally thrashed to thunder by the enemy, 
who knows how to fight. 

SALLY 

George, that isn't heroic! 

WASHINGTON 
[Raising the laurel wreath,] 
And, last, permit me to lay this tribute where it 
belongs — on the head of Bishop, who found me the 
horse that fetched me home from Ohio, to find my- 
self — a Roman. 

[Putting the laurel on Bishop's head, he bows 
himself out of the girls' circle, and starts off,] 

SALLY 

Don't let him escape, girls! 

ANN 

Nay, indeed, he sha'n't! Here's a warrant for his 



Act I] WASHINGTON 75 

captivity. Look! [She holds up a slip of paper,] 
Read what I found irf a coat pocket! 



ELIZABETH 

[Snatching it,] 
What is it? [Reading aloud.] 



One Engagement Ring 
2 Pounds, 6 Shillings, Pence 



[The Girls shout with excitement: ''Engage- 
ment ring!"] 

WASHINGTON 

[Bursting out,] 
Young ladies! Where—? 
[He stops, confused.] 

SALLY 

Oho! where indeed? Where does this pledge hold 
him captive? 

ANN 

Rumour answers — in a certain white house, on the 
Pamunkey. 

SALLY 

The White House! 



76 WASHINGTON [Act I 

ELIZABETH 

Oh, the White House! [To Washington.] Nay, 
really — the charming Custis? 

ANN 

Look at him — frozen image of Guilt! Girls, we 
must deliver him to his fate. You see, now, where all 
this pathway of war is leading! — to the doorstep of a 
certain White House and a charming widow! 

ELIZABETH 

[Coaxingly.] 
Honest, Colonel George, — are you engaged? 

WASHINGTON 

[Icily.] 
Yes, madam: I am engaged in farming; and I am 
busy. 

SALLY 

[Under her breath.] 
You hear, girls? We'd best stop teasing. [With 
bated tone.] Forgive us, George: we've been silly, 
but we're serious now. Do tell us about the war — 
what's to happen. When are you going back to take 
command? 

WASHINGTON 
[Flashing a look of grave feeling.] 
Never — till I am offered it. His Majesty has never 
yet commissioned me to honourable command. I will 



I 



Act I] WASHINGTON 77 

never again accept of less, while brave men are butch- 
ered wholesale, with flags flying. 

[From the left, an Officer in British uni- 
form^ carrying a document with seals, is hurry- 
ing in. He is about to pass Washington, but 
stops, speaking short of breath.] 

He is followed, more slowly, by a tattered 
country Fellow, carrying a fiddle.] 

THE OFFICER 

I beg pardon, Sir. Is this Colonel Washington? 

WASHINGTON 

It is, Sir. 

THE OFFICER 

[Saluting, hands him the document.] 
I come from headquarters. Colonel. I bring you 
here his Majesty's commission. 

WASHINGTON 

[Takes it, clenching his jaw; then speaks, 
slowly.] 
What commission. Sir? 

THE OFFICER 

As Commander of all the Colonial forces in Vir- 
ginia. 

[Washington stares at him.] 
The Girls cry out exultantly, clapping their 
hands. ] 



78 WASHINGTON [Act I 

THE GIRLS 
Colonel Washington — commander by commission! 
Called back to his country! 

[In the midst of their cries, the Fiddler draws 
his bow on his fiddle strings. At its sound, 
pitched high and sweet like the Girls' voices, 
black darkness blots out the scene — to a tune 
still playing from the darkness.] 



{Fourth Transition) 

The tune deepens to an old plantation melody, to 
which the strings of the fiddle now are struck 
with low strumming. 

Very faintly, at first, the mellow voices of Negro Men 
begin to sing in choral harmony, with which soon 
the voices of Women and Children join. 

THE VOICES 

Adam and Eba, wipe yo' eyes, 

'Tain't no good fo' ter gaze at de garden; 

Closed is de do's ob Paradise; 

'Tain't no good f o' ter axe no pardon. 

Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
Eden home is far away. — 



Act I] WASHINGTON 79 

Oh, nebber mind! 
ril lay my heart down, 

Down in de lap ob oV Virgin-ee-ay! 

Moses, drop dat oF staf in yo' hand, 
'Tain't no use yo' eyesight strainin' ; 

'Tain't fo' you no promise' land; 

Egypt won't nebber turn into Canaan. 

Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 
Oh, wharll I lay my heart down? 

Eden home is far away. — 
Oh, nebber mind! 
ril lay my heart down, 

Down in de lap ob oV Virgin-ee-ay! 

While this Chorus is growing louder, out of the dark- 
ness — one by one — lanterns begin to shine, cast- 
ing mysterious shadows through the colonnade, 
gradually revealing grouped forms and colour- 
ful movements of festal preparation. 



FIFTH ACTION 

Like a moving frieze in the background — to and fro 
between house and kitchen — Negroes are pass- 
ing, some in gay liveries, others with bright body- 



80 WASHINGTON [Act I 

cloths, that set off the burnished ebony of their 
limbs. All bear on their heads, or in their 
hands, trenchers and trays, heaped with dishes 
from the meal indoors, from which the hum of 
after-supper talk and laughter resounds through 
the open house-door. 

Among the Negroes are Mammy Sal, Zekiel and 
Isaiah. 

Mammy Sal — appearing slightly older than before — 
resplendent in pied head-gear, bustles proudly 
in her overseering. 

Through the Chorus as it dies away, her voice is heard 
— in half-chanted cadence — speaking to the pass- 
ing Figures. i 

■ i 

MAMMY SAL ^ 

Keep on a-movin' on: ri'chon in, ri'chon in: keep 
on a-movin' on in, dar! Zekiel, now's de glory we 
been waitin'. De bride an' de groom, de groom an' 
de bride — blessed be de bride an' de bridegroom! 

ZEKIEL 

Big doin's, Mammy Sal: sho big doin's dis yere 
night at de home manshin ! 

MAMMY SAL 

Wen de man he bring de noo woman home, w'en 
de massa he bring home de noo missy-bride — praise 
de Lo'd ob Crayshun! — den shall de feas' be spread, 
an' de fiddle he's say Glory! an' de feet dey's holler 



Act I] WASHINGTON 81 

Amen! an' de evenin' stars dey's all grab a-han's, fo' 
ter sing de Cray shun Hallelujah! 

ZEKIEL 

An' I done hear tell, Mammy Sal, w'at de war she's 
all ober, an' de Injuns dey's got lickt an' got de 'ligion, 
so's Marse Com'l Washin'n done could put on 's silk 
stockin's, and wed 'is lady-bride down de W'ite House. 

MAMMY SAL 

An' you done hear tell de gospel troof, Zekiel: 

War-fightin' — done gone forebber: 

Hang up de musket-gun! 
Weddin' an' feas-a-tin' comin' now forebber: 

Take down de fiddle-bow! 

honey Marse George! — an' him now de bride- 
groom, w'at his ole Mammy Sal done feed up wid de 
co'n pone, in de boy-time ob 's years! 

ZEKIEL 

But w'ar' de bride? 

MAMMY SAL 

W'at! you ain't seen her yit? Watch out: he's 
a-bringin' her now wid de neighbours an' gues's. 
Dey's a-comin' ou'chere, fo' ter dance de welcome- 
home rinktums. 

ZEKIEL 

But w'ich-a-one be ri'chenough Missy Washin'n? 



82 WASHINGTON [Act I 

MAMMY SAL 

Watch out, Fm a-tellin' you, f o' de rose-flower lady, 
wid de two li'l bud-flower chilluns. De boy-chile, he 
Marse Jack Custis; an' de gal-chile sister, she Missy 
Patty; an' dey lady-mudder — w'at was Missy Martha 
Custis — she ri'chenough now Marse George' bride — 
Missy Washin'n. [Turning to the tray -bearers,] 
Keep on a-movin' on, dar: ri'chon in, now! 

[While Mammy Sal has been speaking, there 
has come forth from the house a happy throng of 
Guests, chiefly young people, who gather buzzing 
on the grass and about the colonnade — their old- 
time gowns and buckles gleaming in the lantern- 
shine. 

Among the last — preceded down the steps by 
a Fiddler, who treads backward before them, — 
come George and Martha Washington, in 
their wedding costumes. 

Riding high on his left shoulder, Washing- 
ton carries a little Girl; before him — and next 
to the Fiddler — a little Boy bears the fiddle; 
while Washington, with his right hand, escorts 
the Bride to the centre middleground. 

There the Fiddler mounts a table against a 
column, while a clamour of shouts goes up from 
the Guests.] 

THE guests 
The bride! Long live the bride! God save the 
groom! 



Act I] WASHINGTON 83 

WASHINGTON 

[Lifting the little Boy upon his right shoul- 
der.] 
Friends, permit me to present these mascots of Mt. 
Vernon — Mistress Patty and Master Jack. 

[The Guests applaud; the Children wave 
from their high seats.] 
They shall preside with the Fiddler! 

[Gaily, he swings the Children from his 
shoulders upon the table. 

The Guests applaud again, and Captain 
John Posey cries out from among them:] 

CAPTAIN JOHN 

The bride! Speech from the bride! 
[The Guests take up the call.] 

MARTHA WASHINGTON 

[Laughing, lifts the keys at her girdle, and 
jingles them.] 
Nay, my dears, not from me! In the house of the 
Washingtons, I am Keeper of the Keys, but the 
Speaker of the House is the Colonel. 

[She makes a low courtesy to Washington.] 

POSEY 

Three cheers for Colonel George and his lady! 
Hip, hip [All: ''Hurray!''], Hip hip [All: 
''Hurray!"], Hip hip [All: "Hurray!'']. 



84 WASHINGTON [Act I 

WASHINGTON 

Neighbours, my friends, in the name of Mistress 
Washington and myself, I return your welcome. The 
gates of Mt. Vernon shall always swing both ways: — 
inward, to welcome our neighbours; outward, to carry 
our neighbourly Godsend as far as the road winds. 
And now happily our wishes are granted us, within 
and without. These personal joys are sanctified by 
public peace. 

[Murmurs from the Guests: ''Amenr 
"Praise be for thatF' etc.] 
Our country, too, holds house-warming: her long 
wars are over. We have offered her our lives in bat- 
tle for the only goal free men of America will fight 
for — un rankling peace. 

[The Guests: ''Hear, hear F' "You've won 
it for us. Colonel!" etc.] 
And so, on this gracious May night, the repose of a 
great continent likens the repose of our hearts: no 
bloody massacres impend; no cries of persecution 
call us to take arms. Here, at last, we are camped 
at home, where now we may set our bayonets as chim- 
ney-spits, to turn roast fowl; and our swords in scythe- 
handles, to trim a dancing-green; and practise our 
marching orders — in a Virginia reel. 

[The Guests: "The reel!'' "On with the 
reel!''] 

[Washington turns, with a bow, to Martha.] 
How say you. Patsy, — are we partners? 



Act I] WASHINGTON 85 

MARTHA 

Partners, George, — as long as the Fiddler shall 
play. 

WASHINGTON 

Ho, then, Master Fiddler, strike up: and mind you 
don't stop — short o' doomsday! 

[From his raised place beside the two Chil- 
dren, the Fiddler flourishes his bow, and puts 
fiddle to chin. 

In the background, the Negroes look on, grin- 
ning and excited. 

Choosing partners, the Guests take places for 
a Virginia reel — George and Martha Wash- 
ington as first couple. 

At stroke of the fiddle, they begin joyously 
to dance, and — spangling the lantern-lit dark — 
dance on, while the Curtain fallsJ] 



END of act I 



« > 



ACT II 



ACT II 
SIXTH ACTION 

Before the curtain rises, a deep, muffled explosion be- 
hind it has ushered a confusion of sounds from 
within: Jangling and tolling of bells, half artic- 
ulate shouts and bursts of singing, babble of jeer- 
ing voices and beating of drums, — these are min- 
gled with the cracking percussion of musketry 
and the long far roll of cannonading. 

So, amid obscurity and vague din, indeterminate as 
noises heard in dreams, one hardly observes the 
rise of the curtain upon a lurid scene, throughout 
the acting of which only occasional glimpses 
{caught from the flare of a torch or a pole-lan- 
tern) reveal in turmoil the passing and grouping 
of Revolutionary figures, that appear less like 
real men, women and children than their images 
conjured behind the closed eye-lids of fevered 
sleep. 

First, in the distance, drawing nearer, Voices of Men 
Te heard singing in uproar, 

THE SINGERS 

Oh, the birds of the air and the fish of the sea 
To Adam, old Adam, our Lord He gave free, 

89 



90 WASHINGTON [Act II 

Till the lord of taxation 
Cried, "/ made creation! 
I will take for my dish 
Every fowl, every fish." 

Derry down, down! Hey, derry down! 

VOICES 

[0/ persons dimly seen in the foreground,^ 
Here they come — the Liberty Boys! Hurray! 
Who's that they're riding on the pole? 
A Tory: he's a Tory! They've stripped him naked. 
He's tarred and feathered. 

Here they come! Hoho, — see the Tory King-bird! 

[ Whirled by in the flashing of lanterns, a fan- 
tastic human Form, blackened and stuck all with 
feathers, rides high on a pole borne on the shoul- 
ders of Young Men, who rush past and off the 
scene, still yelling their songS\ 

THE LIBERTY BOYS 

So the sons of old Adam, with Liberty Tree 
Tossed the fish in the air and the fowl in the sea, 

Crying, "Lord of foul weathers. 

Your fish shall wear feathers 

Till the tar of your tax 

Melts off en their backs." 

Derry down, down! Hey, derry down! 

VOICES 
I — They'll moult that bird in the duck pond. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 91 

II — They'll be back soon and join us. Who's next? 

Ill— Old Myles Cooper. 

II— What— the College President? 

Ill — Aye, we'll tar him next: he's a Tory. 

IV— He's inside there now, but we're layin' for him. 

A VOICE 

[Calling like a Street-Crier.^ 
Ballad! Buy your penny -ballad ! 

[Carrying a bunch of narrow paper strips, the 
tattered Figure of Quilloquon is glimpsed mov- 
ing among others in the dimness, hawking ballads 
and reciting snatches of them.] 
Hearken, patriots! 

'That land of slaves, where snares are laid, 
There royal rights all right defeat: 

They taxed my sun, they taxed my shade. 
They taxed the wretched crumbs I eat; 

'They taxed my hat, they taxed my shoes, 

Fresh taxes still on taxes grew; 
They would have taxed my very nose 

Had I not fled, dear friends, to you.' 

A VOICE 

[Followed by laughter.] 
Sure, then, even your nose ain't safe over here. 



92 WASHINGTON [Act II 

OTHER VOICES 

[One] 
'Whoever would give up essential liberty to pur- 
chase a little temporary safety, deserves neither lib- 
erty nor safety.' 

[Several] 
Right! right! 

[Three in Conversation] 

I. 'Can you conceive a greater absurdity: Three 
millions of people running to their seacoast every 
time a ship arrives from London, to know what por- 
tion of liberty they should enjoy?' 

II. 'And all because of a King!' 

III. 'And what hath a King to do, more than make 
war, give away places, impoverish the nation and set 
it by the ears?' 

I. 'A pretty business, indeed, for a man to be al- 
lowed eight hundred thousand sterling for.' 

II. 'And worshipped into the bargain — ha!' 

THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 

Ballad! Get your penny ballad! 

'0 Boston wives and maids, draw near and see 
Our delicate Souchong and Hyson tea ; 
Buy it, my charming girls, fair, black or brown, — 
If not, we'll cut your throats and bum your town.' 

VOICES 

I. Tom Paine has the right of it: 'Government, 



Act II] WASHINGTON 93 

like dress, is the badge of lost innocence — a mode 
rendered necessary by the inability of moral virtue to 
govern the world.' 

II. And yet they put their soldiers to govern us. 

I. 'Aye, forsooth! but military power is by no 
means calculated to convince the understandings of 
men. It may perhaps in another part of the world 
affright women and children and weak men out of 
their senses, but it will never awe a sensible American 
tamely to surrender his liberty.' 

III. That's what Sam Adams told 'em in Boston. 

[On the left, raised suddenly from the ground, 
appears an improvised pulpit of black, into 
which a black-gowned Figure mounts and intones 
loudly — in the voice of Quilloquon:] 

THE GOWNED FIGURE 
[Quilloquon] 
Brethren of the Congregation! 

THE CROWD 

The Preacher! Listen to the Preacher! 

THE GOWNED FIGURE 
[Quilloquon] 
Give ear unto my parable ! 

[Raising aloft a great volume.^ 
Hark to the scriptures of Jonathan, the son of John, 
and father of Samuel, uncle of tribes to be: 



94 WASHINGTON [Act II 

Lo, my text is from 'The First Book of the Ameri- 
can Chronicles of the Times.' 

[Opening the volume, he reads by the light of 
a lantern held by one of the crowd.^ 
'And behold! When the tidings came to the great 
city that is afar off, how the men of Boston, even the 
Bostonites, had arose a great multitude, and destroyed 
the Tea, and cast it into the midst of the Sea — 
[The Crowd murmur and laugh.] 
'Then the Lord the King waxed exceeding wroth, 
'And he assembled together the Princes, the judges, 
all the rulers of the people, 

'And they smote their breasts and said, "These men 
fear thee not, King, neither have they worshipped 
the Tea Chest, which thou hast set up, whose length 
was three cubits, and the breadth thereof one cubit and 
a half. 

[A Voice intones from the crowd: "Miser- 
able sinners!"] 
' "Now, therefore, make a decree that their harbours 
be blocked up, that their merchants may be broke, 
that their ships that goeth upon the waters may be 
sunk in the depth thereof, that their cods and their oil 
may stink, for that they have rebelled against thee." 
[A Voice: "Mercy upon us!" 
Other Voices, in groaning unison: "Miser- 
able sinners!'^] 
'And it came to pass that the King barkened to these 
sons of Belial. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 95 

'Then arose Mordecai, the Benjaminite, who was 
fourscore and five years old, a wise man, an astrol- 
oger — 

[A Voice: ''Old Ben Franklin, I bet ye! — 
He can fly a kite thafll blow kings to thunder 
over there before doom's day." 
Other Voices: ''Amenr] 
'And the Benjaminite said, 

' "0 King, they hide the truth from thee, and wrong- 
fully accuse the men of Boston. — King, if thou art 
wise, thou wilt understand these things." 

'But behold! one of the King's counsellors said, 
"Thou liest. 

' "Hearken, King! The men of New England 
are stiff necked and as stubborn hogs; they are worse 
than all the plagues of Egypt: They go to and fro 
in the evening and grin like a dog. Surely, King, 
the spirit of Oliver or the devil is got in them." 
[A Voice: ''Aye — Oliver CromweWs 
devilry 
'And behold the Rulers of the People cried out 
vehemently, "Persecute them!" 

'And they sent their battering rams against the city, 
and their cannon, which bellowed out fire and smoke 
and brimstone. 

'And they planted these on the neck of the Boston- 
ites and laid siege against it. 

'And they made mouths and said, "Let us pinch 
them by famine, and they will surely give up." 



96 WASHINGTON [Act II 

[Groans from the Crowd.] 

'And they drummed with their drums and piped 
with their pipes, and they abused the young children 
of Boston, calling them Yankees. 

'And the young men said, "We will not bear this! 
Seven times have they vexed us, and they gape as it 
were a ramping lion; let us go and smite the heathen." 
[Voices: ''Amenr ''Hip and thighr] 

'But the Benjaminite, the wise man, said, "Nay, my 
sons, pluck up your hearts like young unicorns. Let 
us bow not down to the Tea Chest, but let us send Mes- 
sengers to all the coasts of our brethren the Ameri- 
canites, to join with us and resist these rulers — we that 
be one people, and serve one God — so that we be not 
slaves." ' 

THE CROWD 

[With a great shout. ^ 
Aye — aye — Amen! The Americanites! America! 
[Clamouring toward the Preacher, they over- 
whelm the improvised pulpit, which flounders 
down in the jumble of darkness, amid which 
QuiLLOQUON disappears.^ 
Hurrah for the Liberty Boys! Here they come 
back! 

[From the left, the Liberty Boys come rush- 
ing on again, shouting a medley of cries as they 
come.^ 

the liberty boys 
King's College! King's College! King's College ! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 97 

Tar the President! He's a Tory! — Tar him! 
The rack for him — the rack! 
Tory Cooper! Old Clergy Cooper! 
Be quiet, boys: Sing him Liberty Lullaby! 
[In Chorus, they burst into singing :'\ 

Toss-a-by, Tory, on the tree-top ; 
When Freedom blows, your kingdom will rock: 
When Freedom strikes, your kingdom will fall, 
And down will come Tory, King, Crown and all! 

Toss-a-by, toss-a-by, toss-a-by, Tory! 

Toss-a-by, toss-a-by, toss-a-by, Tory! — 

[The singing breaks off with a roar of jeers 
and cat-calls, which turn to hisses, as, at the top 
of the steps, a gowned man is dragged forth.] 
Sss! There he is! Tar him! — Hang him! A 
halter! 

A LEADER 

[Swinging a lantern,] 
Silence! Be quiet there! Let the Reverend Doc- 
tor speak his funeral oration. 

[Lowering his voice to a tone of ironic defer- 
ence. ] 
Minister Myles Cooper, you are called to address 
the pall-bearers. 

[A white-haired Man, gowned in black, steps 
forward and speaks with a quiet, cultivated enun- 
ciation, raising his voice only slightly.] 



98 WASHINGTON [Act II 

PRESIDENT COOPER 

Gentlemen of New York — 

[Jeers: ''Boo! Boo! Gentry be 
damned!"] 
This is not a proper occasion to call on a Royalist 
to express his — 

voices 
[Interrupting.] 
Royalist! He owns he's a Royalist. 

THE LEADER 

Be still, boys! Since his Reverence declines an 
oration, perchance he prefers a catechism. 
[With mock bow.] 

Beseech your Worship to inform our ignorance: 
What honourable institution is this? 

cooper 
This, Sir, as you well know, is King's College. 

THE LEADER 

Wrong, your Reverence! I know a college, when 
I see one; but what. Sir, is a king? 

[Voices: ''Aye, what's a king?''] 

COOPER 
[With polite and stinging contempt.] 
Gentlemen, you are drowned in Madeira. Vilify 
me, if you will; but when you blaspheme his Majesty, 
the King — 



Act II] WASHINGTON 99 

THE LEADER 

[Stilling a storm of hisses, as he waves a wine- 
bottle.] 
Wrong again, Master Cooper! His Majesty is 
drowned — not us. He was lately drowned in a pot of 
tea, which his fair daughter Columbia brewed him 
with salt-water. In consequence, poor old mummy, 
his royal remains are now in a pickle. 

A VOICE 

[Followed by laughter.] 
Hanoverian tripe! 

THE LEADER 

So, Sir, henceforth his fair daughter Columbia is 
mistress of our vows. Hail, Columbia ! In thy name 
I break now this bottle of Madeira, and baptize for 
ever this shrine of American youth — Columbia Col- 
lege! 

SHOUTS 

Long live Columbia College! 

A VOICE 

And to hell with the Tory President of King's. 

VOICES 

String him! Shave his head! Cut off his ears! 
Slit his nose! Strip him naked! 

[With a rush, the Crowd surges up the steps, 
at the top of which a lithe young Figure sud- 



! 



100 WASHINGTON [Act II 

denly leaps upon a railing and halts them with 
voice and gesture.] 

THE YOUNG FIGURE 

Liberty Boys! Wait! A word! 

VOICES 

Hold on, there! Listen! 

THE LEADER 

Who are you? 

THE YOUNG FIGURE 

I am a student of this college.— I ask to speak for it. 

VOICES 

A collegian! A collegian! 

THE LEADER 

What's your party? 

THE YOUNG FIGURE 

The American party 

THE LEADER 

Your name? 

THE YOUNG FIGURE 

Alexander Hamilton. 

I 

VOICES ^ 

Hamilton— he's a patriot.— He helped us move the 

\ 



Act II] WASHINGTON 101 

cannon by the river this morning. — Let him speak! 

THE LEADER 

[Sullenly.] 
Do as you like! 

HAMILTON 

Liberty Boys! I am one of you. Do you remem- 
ber our battle-cry? 

SHOUTS 

Liberty and Reason for ever! 

HAMILTON 

Liberty and Reason: Those are the noblest watch- 
words of mankind: those are the radiant lamps that 
burn in our country's eyes: they guide her steps; they 
reveal her goal; without them she would be blind. 
Who, then, shall dare to extinguish them? 

VOICES 

Nobody ! Let 'em dare ! 

HAMILTON 

Fellow-countrymen, in our country's honour you 
have rechristened my alma mater. I rejoice in her 
new-bom name — Columbia College. In that name, I 
rejoice that you have sought out this man — this college 
president — to confront him here on these steps with 
the irrefutable arguments of Liberty and Reason. 



102 WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE LEADER 

Who's arguing? What's this? 

COOPER 

[Addressing the Crowd and pointing at Ham- 
ilton.] 
Gentlemen, don't listen to him, for God's sake! 
He's a mad rebel — worse sober than you others drunk. 
The game is up, gentlemen! Take me: ride me on 
your rail, but deliver me from his raillery. 
[Several start to seize the old Man,^ 

HAMILTON 

[Intervening.^ 
Wait! Will you hear him — or me? 

SHOUTS 

You — you! Gag the old Royalist. 

HAMILTON 

Royalist! Now you have named him. My 
friends, he calls us rebels, but will the learned master 
of the college tell us — what is a Royalist? 

SHOUTS 

A crown-kisser — a tyrant's boot-licker! 

HAMILTON 
A man who supports his monarch against his peo- 
ple. A Royalist, then, himself is the arch-rebel: a 



Act II] WASHINGTON 103 

rebel to Magna Charta, a rebel to the Constitution, a 
rebel to the ancient liberties of his own race. 

A VOICE 

So he is! 

HAMILTON 

For, mark you, friends: if there be reason in liberty, 
rulers exist for their peoples, not peoples for their 
rulers; and whenever, wherever on this earth rulers 
shall choose to argue the contrary — 
[The Crowd cheers wildly,] 
rulers become rebels to their people, and may take 
the consequences. 

SHOUTS 

Aye, aye, aye! To hell with rulers and kings! 
Liberty and Reason for ever! 

HAMILTON 

You hear. Master President: You behold the con- 
sequences in America. 

COOPER 

Aye, Sir, I hear your counter arguments — the yelp- 
ing of curs, the belling of hounds for blood. I behold 
you, American patriots: — a mob of bankrupts and 
shopkeepers, attorneys in tatters, cobblers without 
shoes, tinkers of broken lanterns — prolitarian up- 
starts! 



104 WASHINGTON [Act II 

SHOUTS 
String him up! Away with him! 

HAMILTON 

Stay! Hear him out! 

[The Crowd pauses, but growls with menace.] 

COOPER 

Aye, young bullies, cowards! I am an old man, a 
peaceful minister of God. You attack me, an hun- 
dred to one. But, praise God and King George, I am 
a British Royalist, afraid of no Yankee ragtails. So 
here, I stand, alone: alone, and I challenge you to 
defend yourselves. Liberty and Reason — those are 
your rebel appeals to Ribaldry and Madness. 

[The Crowd roars terribly, Hamilton leaps 
on the rail again and raises his lantern.] 

HAMILTON 

Patriots! You hear his challenge. Will you take 
it? 

SHOUTS 

[Fiercely.] 
Aye, aye ! We'll answer him ! 

HAMILTON 

Bravo, fellow Americans! — And I will be your 
spokesman. He has made a brave stand — a pathetic 
plea — this man of peace — this old Royalist who stands 
alone: all alone, — except for the army of England: all 



Act II] WASHINGTON 105 

alone, poor minister — except for the ministry of Great 
Britain; all, all alone, poor imperialist — except for 
the power of the imported king and the princes and 
nobility and parliament and press and embattled navy 
of the mightiest empire of the world. 

VOICES 

Hear, hear! Go to it, boy! 

HAMILTON 

Still, we accept his challenge — not as of might, but 
of right. Curs, he calls us — hounds belling for 
blood: Are we that breed? 

VOICES 
No, no. Damn him! 

HAMILTON 

We Americans — are we the watchdogs that have 
faced for a century of blood the fangs of wild beasts, 
the tomahawks of wilder men, to guard the frontiers 
of a new world? Or has this continent been defended 
— by the King's fox-hounds in Hyde Park? 

A VOICE 

[Amid shrill whistlings J\ 
Hamilton to the death! Sic 'im, collegian! 

HAMILTON 

"Bankrupts," "Attorneys in tatters": Aye, Sir: we 
own to your impeachment. — Bankrupted by whom? 



106 WASHINGTON [Act II 

VOICES 

The King! — Parliament! 

HAMILTON 

[Turning to the Crowd.] 
Who taxed us without representation? 

VOICES 

Parliament! Parliament! 

HAMILTON 

Who imposed the Stamp Act? 

A SHOUT 

Royalists! Royalists! 

HAMILTON 

Who made them repeal it? 

A GREATER SHOUT 

Americans! 

HAMILTON 

Who forged new fetters: forced us to choose slav- 
ery or freedom, and when we rejected slavery — who 
sealed up our harbours, tore up our charters, lodged 
soldiers in our homes and confiscated our rights as 
citizens? 

SHOUTS 

The King. The Ministry! Tyrants! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 107 

HAMILTON 

Bankrupt — aye, in bread, but not in brains. Tat- 
tered attorneys, yes — and the tatters we wear are 
fouled rags of the once noble vestments of Britain's 
majesty; but the rights our intellects plead, and our 
passions adore, are validated by the majesty of man- 
kind. They are not to be rummaged for among old 
parchments, or musty records. They are written, as 
with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, 
by the hand of Divinity itself, and can never be erased 
or obscured by mortal power? 

A VOICE 

[From the Crowd — now held in a deep-breath- 
ing silence.'\ 
Amen! 

HAMILTON 

Cobblers and tinkers — and why not? Cobblers 
without shoes — we shall mend the wing-torn sandals 
of Liberty, that she may run once more among the 
stars; tinkers — we shall make old lanterns new again 
and, like Aladdin, make genii, instead of men, the 
slaves of Reason. 

VOICES 

Liberty and Reason for ever! 

HAMILTON 

Aye, Liberty and Reason — so we return to our 



108 WASHINGTON [Act II 

watchwords. But this Royalist has challenged us. 
He says, when we use those watchwords, we are hypo- 
crites. 

A VOICE 

He lies in his throat. 

HAMILTON 

Bravo! Shall we prove to him he lies? 

VOICES 

You bet! — Make him swallow his apple. 

HAMILTON 

[Thrusting Cooper behind him in the obscur- 
ity of the doorway, speaks with increasing fer- 
vour and rapidity.] 
For us, he says, Liberty and Reason are Ribaldry 
and Madness. Is it so? When we preach Liberty, 
do we really practise — Madness? 

VOICES 

No! no! 

HAMILTON 

When we preach Reason, do we practise Ribaldry? 
VOICES 

Never! Not us! 

HAMILTON 

Then, boys of Liberty and Reason, he has slandered 



Act II] WASHINGTON 109 

us. He has lied. We American patriots are no mob. 
We are not mad — like Parliament. We are not ri- 
bald — like the Royalists. We attorneys, tinkers, cob- 
blers — at least our manners may compare with a col- 
lege President's. 

[Voices: ''Hoho! I reckon r] 
Sometimes, to be sure, we poke our tongues in our 
cheeks. We will play-act a mob — in jest; we will 
lullaby old helpless Tories — chalF 'em for fun. We 
have our own humour — home-made; we wouldn't be 
Yankees without it. Yet, simple and merry as we are, 
we have not sold our self-respect to tyrants, nor our 
own native dignity to kings. — Say, then, my fellow 
Americans! How shall we heap confusion on this 
man? How shall we meet his cynical challenge? 
Shall we mob-ride him on a rail, and lose our chal- 
lenged honour of Liberty and Reason? Or shall we 
let him go in liberty — and win the challenge? 

[For a moment follows an awkward silence, 
filled ivith low murmurs and shifting of feet. 
Then a Voice cries: ''Win out for us! Let him 
go!" Then a confusion of muttered protests and 
voices: ''Nay, nay! He's a liar," drowned by 
louder, good-natured jeers and cries of, ''Sure 
he is! Aye — let him go! Let the old fool 
go!" 

Then suddenly, through the dimness, up the 
steps rushes the figure of the Leader, and — leap- 
ing on the rail — yells to the Crowd savagely,] 



no WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE LEADER 

Let him go-^you young fools? Damn you all, he's 
gone! Old Tory Cooper is gone! He has escaped 
by the back door. Catch him ! 
[He jumps down. 

A howl of exasperation bursts from the 
Crowd. 

In roaring tumult, the Liberty Boys rush off 
in the darkness, screaming: ''Catch him! Ride 
him to the river!" 



(Fifth Transition) 

From beside the railing, the shadowy form of 
the ballad-hawker (Quilloquon) comes danc- 
ing down the steps, singing shrilly through the 
uproar:] 

quilloquon 
There was a young fellow who followed the plough; 
Sing halifor band if I do: 
Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles, 
Sing new, new! 

[In the foreground, he is joined by a Boy and 
a Girl from the dispersing Crowd, and there, 
while the last lanterns are disappearing, he takes 




QUILLOQUON 

AS BALLAD-HAWKBR 



Act II] WASHINGTON 111 

their hands in a capering round dance, still sing- 
ing:] 

The Devil set fire to his rick and his mow; 
Sing nickel, sing nackel, sing new: 
Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles, 
Sing new, new! 

Ho, neighbours, fetch axes and buckets and mire! 
What help is my plough, when my farm is on fire? 

Sing halifor band if I do: 

Sing bands and rebels and rebels and troubles. 
Sing new, new! 

[During this dance and song, the blue curtains 
of the theatre have closed off the scene, shutting 
the Dancers outside.] 

The last note of his refrain Quilloquon's voice holds 
in a long-drawn-out quaver, which is just ceasing 
when — from within — the final three notes of the 
tune are heard repeated by a flute-like music. 

QuiLLOQUON pauses, stock-still. Raising one finger 
for the Children to listen, he sings again: 

'Sing new, new!^ 

From within comes the flute-like echo. 
Slyly, QuiLLOQUON takes out his own flute, and step- 
ping near the curtains plays on it the three notes. 



112 WASHINGTON [Act II 

Once more, from within, they are repeated. 

With a knowing gesture, Quilloquon parts the cur- 
tains just enough to stick his head through behind 
them, jerks it out again, beckons to the Children, 
holds a narrow slit open and signs for them to 
peep through with him. 

They do so, then draw back and look up at him with 
an awed smile. 

He whispers to them, places the little Girl's hand on 
the left curtain, the Boy's on the right, makes a 
gesture of silence, waves to them a narrow strip 
of ballad-paper, and — stealing through between 
the curtains — disappears. 

And now — as notes of a flute are heard again from 
within — the Girl and Boy begin to draw the cur- 
tains back, and move with them, on either side, to 
the wings of the stage, where — from left and 
right — they peer momentarily at the scene. 



SEVENTH ACTION 

The scene reveals the colonnade at Mt. Vernon {as in 
Act I). 

Here, in the background, piled at left and right, lug- 
gage and travelling boxes are stacked. 

On a chest, in the middle ground, sits Washington. 

He is alone. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 113 

Raised to his lips he holds a flute; across one of his 
knees lies a narrow strip of ballad-paper. 

He is playing the music of 'Bands and Rebels^ — mid- 
way of which he pauses, lets his hand with the 
flute sink beside him, and stares with grave in- 
tensity at the ballad-strip — his lips only moving. 

In the sunlight, his strong features show lines more 
mature than formerly. He is clad in the buff- 
and-blue of a Colonial colonel: his head is bare; 
his long locks, tied in a queue, are touched 
slightly with grey; his hat and cape are laid near 
him. 

For a moment the silence is profound. 

Then, raising his flute, he continues playing the mel- 
ody. 

With its close, as a trilling repetition of the last three 
notes sounds in the air above him, a Head peeps 
out from the upper window of the kitchen. It is 
QuiLLOQUON. At his mouth he holds his flute. 
His eyes are laughing. 

As Washington glances up curiously, Quilloquon's 
head disappears. 

Meantime from the house, Martha Washington has 
come out. 

She is dressed in simple homespun. Under a small, 
white cap, her brown hair is still untouched with 
grey, and her dark eyes flash youthfully as they 
look toward the seated figure. 

In her hand she carries a sheathed sword and girdle. 



114 WASHINGTON [Act II 

As she draws near, Washington by a gesture motions 
for her to listen. 

MARTHA 

[Looking up with him,] 
A Kentucky cardinal! 

WASHINGTON 

Close by. 

MARTHA 

They always sing in the sycamore. Spring sets 'em 
at their old tricks again. 

WASHINGTON 

And us at ours, Patsy. The first flute I ever played 
was a willow whistle. I cut it by the river. I used to 
try fooling the mocking-birds. I'm trying my hand 
again now. 

MARTHA 
I was looking for your flute, George. 

[Taking it from his hand.] 
I've come to pack it for you, and bring you this. 

[She sits beside him,] 

WASHINGTON 

[Slowly, looking down at the sword.] 
Thanks. I'll want 'em both, I reckon, — before I 
get back. 

[A medley of bird-like flutings bursts through 



t» 



Act II] WASHINGTON 115 

the sunlight above them, and continues to bubble 
forth while they talk below. 

Restraining a surge of emotion, Washington 
looks up again.] 
Listen there: That fellow's going it good. He 
must have just found a mate. 

MARTHA 
Nonsense, my dear: he found her long ago. 
There's a couple has nested by that chimney every 
season — these sixteen years. 

WASHINGTON 
Sixteen years — the same old pair? 

MARTHA 
I'll stake my oath on 'em. I've named 'em George 
and Patsy. April always finds 'em here, busy home- 
building — though George he flies away at times to 
forage. 

[Laying her hand on his, she smiles — a bit 
wistfully. ] 
But he don't stay long away, and he always comes 
back whistling. 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling back at her.] 
I'll warrant him! And I'll stake my oath, my dear, 
on all his foragings he keeps a bird's-eye-view of Mt. 
Vernon, and maps his trail by a sycamore tree, a bend 



116 WASHINGTON [Act II 

in the river, a home chimney, and the little white 
cap of Patsy, his mate. 

[Lifting his face from hers, he closes his eyes, 
tensely, murmuring low.^ 
God, to whom men pray! 

MARTHA 

[After a moment of stillness,^ 
Will it be long this time? — Will it, George? 

WASHINGTON 

A long trail into the wilderness! Playing that 
flute there. Patsy, I've been watching it all — far off". 

MARTHA 

Watching what, George? 

WASHINGTON 

[Rising slowly to his feet.'\ 
A smoke of darkness, and our country burning: 
a forest of men on fire! — ^Wild beasts broke from 
their lairs. — A mad bully with a crown, driving his 
yoke of swine and mules, to fight the flames with fish- 
oil. — ^Leaders, a few brave lads, crying in the wilder- 
ness for axes, to fell a path in the jungle, and save the 
homes of millions. 

[Pointing to the strip of ballad-paper, on the 
ground.] 
There! 'Tis all there — in a penny ballad. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 117 

MARTHA 

[Lifting it.] 
What's this? 

WASHINGTON 

An old song — and a new. You'll remember it. 

MARTHA 

[Reading.] 
"There was a young fellow who followed the plough, 
The Devil set fire to his rick and his mow." — 

WASHINGTON 

[Peering over her shoulder at the ballad slip.] 
"Ho, neighbours, fetch axes and buckets and mire! — 

[Taking it from her.] 
What help is my plough, when my farm is on fire?" 

[Crumpling the paper, he flings it away.] 
Aye, Patsy my own, 'tis over — our sixteen years! 
No more nest-building in the mow, for now 'tis save 
the farm, and 'sing bands and rebels and rebels and 
troubles,' and good-bye to the old time together. 

MARTHA 

[Rises, with a glow and a smile.] 
Why, then, George, 'tis time to 'sing new, new' 
together. — I'll pack this flute in your saddle. So, all 
the long trail, lad, you've only to whistle for your 
mate — 

[She whistles the last three notes of the ballad: 



118 WASHINGTON [Act II 



I 



5 



r r I ^^^ II 



and before you can say Jack Robinson! you'll be see- 
ing her. 

[Above them, from the window, Quilloquon 
with his flute repeats the three notes.] 

WASHINGTON 
[With a boyish gladness.] 
Aye, listen! — like that bird! and I'll be standing 
beside you under the sycamore. And you, when I'm 
gone, and you hear that fellow in the tree bough — 



MARTHA 

I'll be flying to you under his wing, even were it 
dead winter and all the world buried. 

WASHINGTON 

Dear old Pats! 

MARTHA 

[Drawing away from his caress, and saluting 
like the military.] 
Sergeant Pat, Sir, — of the Sarvice! Beggin' Col- 
onel Washington's permission, could I have the honour 
for to buckle-on his sword? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 119 

WASHINGTON 

[With a laugh.] 
Go to it, Sergeant! 

MARTHA 

[Raising the sword upright, in her right 
hand, ] 
To defend the farm, and confound the Devil — his 
Majesty: swear to heaven on this hilt, Colonel Wash- 
ington! 

WASHINGTON 
[With a grave smile,] 
I swear on this hilt — to heaven. 

[Bending over, he kisses her hand on the hilt.] 

MARTHA 

[Lowering the sword — with twinkling quick- 
ness.] 
But you didnt swear. Colonel. 

WASHINGTON 

[With vehemence.] 
Damn his Majesty! Will that serve? 

MARTHA 

Aye, Sir: Amen! 

[As she begins to gird on his sword, Mammy 
Sal — who has come round the kitchen end of the 
colonnade — approaches, raising both arms to- 
ward them,] 



120 WASHINGTON [Act II 

MAMMY SAL 

Amen an' Hallelujah, my chilluns! Dis yere bride 
an' groom ob de Springtime dey ain't nebber faded 
in de summer-come-after, and dey gwine keep 
a-bloomin' in de fros'-kill an' de sun-raise-alive-ag'in, 
forebber and ebber, amen! 

[From the distance come sounds of fife and 
drum.] 

WASHINGTON 

Howdy momin'. Mammy Sal! What's that music 
I hear over yonder? 

MAMMY SAL 

Dunno, Marse George, jes' on'y what-all Marse Pat- 
rick Henry he say. He's acomin' up now from de red 
barn, wid his ole Lo'dship Marse Fairfax — talkin' 
mighty hot togedder: He say de del'gachun folkses 
from Al'sandria dey's *marchin' wid de music for to 
fotch you ag'in to de fightin' far 'way. 

WASHINGTON 

[To Martha.] 
Lord Fairfax — here? 

MARTHA 

He's drove up from Greenaway Court. 

WASHINGTON 

What for? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 121 

MARTHA 

To persuade you not to desert the good king's 
cause. 

WASHINGTON 

Ha — indeed! — Mammy Sal, tell the farm overseers 
to meet me at my office. I have some last instruc- 
tions to give before I leave. 

MAMMY SAL 

Yas'r, Massa. Jes' one jiffy. 

[Taking something from her girdle.] 
Yere's what I fotch you, honey, fo' ter keepsake 
yo' ole Mammy Sal. 

[She hands it,] 

WASHINGTON 

[Taking it,] 
What's this-yere? 

MAMMY SAL 

I reckons you 'members it, Marse honey. Dat's 
de ole roas' fowl spit, fo' you ter stick in yo' fightin' 
gun. 

WASHINGTON 
[With a laugh,] 
Ha! To roast Royal wild geese, eh? 

MAMMY SAL 

Eb'ry gander-goose what 'noys you, Marse George. 



122 WASHINGTON [Act II 

[She bows suddenly on the ground beside him, 
kissing his foot, then looking up fervently at 
him, and Martha.] 

De Lo'd He bless yo' feet in His paf ! 

De Lo'd He lead yo' feet up His golden stair! 

An' de Lo'd He lead 'em down ag'in sho' to de home 
back-do' ob yo' Missy Bride! 

WASHINGTON 
[Raising her up.] 
The Lord He bless your heart, Mammy! 

MAMMY SAL 

[Turning quickly, hurries away.] 
Back home soon, honey belubbed! 

[As Mammy Sal is going to the kitchen, a 
young Man comes from the house, with a black 
servant — a young fellow in scarlet-and-white 
livery carrying a looped bag,] 

THE YOUNG MAN 

[Calling to Martha.] 
Mother, here's the saddle-bags. 

[To Washington.] 
Shall Billy take 'em to the bam, Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

Yes: on my new mare — Billy. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 123 

BILLY THE SERVANT 
Yas'r: de ches'nut mare. 

WASHINGTON 

And wait, Jack; give me that memorandum. 
[He takes out a small pocket book.] 

JACK CUSTIS 

Which, Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

About that young college mate of yours at King's 
who defended your Tory president from the mob. 

JACK 

Yes, Sir. He saved the old fellow, too, while they 
listened. A rousing speech, Sir. You'd have liked 
it. 

WASHINGTON 
His name, you said — what was it? 

JACK 

Alexander Hamilton. 

WASHINGTON 
[Writing in the book.] 
And his address in New York? 

JACK 

In Maiden Lane, I think, Sir, — not far from Trin- 



124 WASHINGTON [Act II 

ity Church. He lives with a tailor, named Hercules 
Mulligan. 

WASHINGTON 

Good. 

[Putting away the pocket book, he lays his 
hand on young Custis' shoulder,] 
Jack, have in mind your mother; keep exact ac- 
count ,of your expenditures, and curb your gaming 
propensities. 

JACK 

Yes, Sir. 

MARTHA 
Don't worry, George. 

[To Jack.] 
Son, fetch me those saddle bags. The boxes will 
go on the coach, Billy. 

[She moves, with Jack, toward the back- 
ground, ivhere she directs Billy concerning the 
travelling things.] 

A VOICE OUTSIDE 

[Deep-toned and vibrant.] 
The Lord of Hosts — the Lord of Hosts, Sir, must 
decide the issue. Give me liberty, or give me death: 
that's what I told 'em. 

[On the path, left, the one who is speaking en- 
ters — a Man of youthful middle-age, magnetic 



Act II] WASHINGTON 125 

in look and gesture — clad for riding. He is ac- 
companied by Lord Fairfax, now white-haired 
and leaning heavily on his cane — clad for walk- 
ing. 

As they come, the sound of distant fifes and 
drums is borne with them, and grows louder at 
intervals during the remainder of the scene.] 

FAIRFAX 

But, good God, Master Henry, give us time! The 
Constitution must be readjusted to the growing col- 
onies. America has British spokesmen in parlia- 
ment. Give 'em time for the needed reforms. 

PATRICK HENRY 

Time, Sir, for a nation's soul to putrefy? Reforms 
that rot are compost for revolution. Burke and Pitt 
speak for us nobly, but America must have American 
spokesmen in parliament — or a parliament of her 
own. 

FAIRFAX 

Ah, there's George! There's George, bless him: 
^e'll have common sense. 

PATRICK HENRY 

Aye, Sir: I'll wager he will. — Momin' Colonel! 

[Bowing.] 
Your servant, Mistress! 



126 WASHINGTON [Act II 

MARTHA 

Yours, Sir; and yours, my lord Fairfax. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah, Patrick, you're riding with me? Splendid! — 
Your lordship, welcome, Sir! But Fm sorry you 
catch me on the go. 

FAIRFAX 

[Consternated.] 
George — no! No! You're not going. 

WASHINGTON 

I stop at Alexandria — on my road north. 

FAIRFAX 

Lad — laddie! — for you're still just my laddie, 
George. — Look round you! Look yonder — the 
woods and the river: our old hunting trails. There's 
Martha: here's me, George: there's Jack. — Wife, 
neighbours, family, home: do these mean nothing any 
more? 

WASHINGTON 

[Staring,] 
Nothing, Sir? Nothing? 

FAIRFAX 

Then why do you root 'em up — to burn in a mad 
rabble's bon-fire? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 127 

WASHINGTON 

Me! — Root 'em up? A man's vine and fig-tree, my 
lord, aren't pot-plants to put in his saddle-bags. 

FAIRFAX 

Then where are you riding? What are you dream- 
ing of? Why do you fight for disruption of your 
home and country? 

WASHINGTON 

I am not dreaming of disruption: I am dreaming 
of justice — and will fight for it, if need be. 

PATRICK HENRY 

Aye — and your neighbours with you ! You should 
have heard him, Martha, speaking on that text in the 
House of Burgesses. I never heard him in such fet- 
tle. As for licking the King, he was for having it 
out alone with his namesake — in a wrastling match 
— George versus George. 

MARTHA 

[Laughing, with Jack.] 
I would like to drop the kerchief for that match. 
I'd stake my George against three of England — cubits 
for crowns. 

PATRICK HENRY 

[Laughing with Jack.] 
Bravo! The game-cock will crow, even with the 
lady-pheasant's voice. 



128 WASHINGTON [Act II 

JACK 

[With a mischievous glance toward Wash- 
ington.] 
And Mother's son is told to curb his gaming pro- 
pensities! 

FAIRFAX 

[Gravely, looking from Martha to George.] 
Are these my old neighbours? 

WASHINGTON 

[Reddening with annoyance.^ 
Fighting-blood makes fool speeches, my lord: but 
it makes — fighters. 

MARTHA 
Even in petticoats, your lordship. 

FAIRFAX 

[With growing heat.] 
And does not that fighting-blood of your ancestors 
curdle with shame in your veins, to turn against your 
own race and country? 

WASHINGTON 

No, Sir; it boils, for shame of my country! The 
tides of English race do not rise and fall only on 
Dover Cliff. When England defends a tyrant, I am 
an Anglo-Saxon who stands, with Freedom, against 
England: for there is not one of our race that lives 
worthy of it, who loves a little island more than lib- 
erty. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 129 

FAIRFAX 

That little island, George, has been the cradle of 
human rights. 

WASHINGTON 

True, Sir — has been, and surely, I doubt not, shall 
be again. But the issue is larger than that. I am 
British to the bone, my lord, and none more proud of 
it. Aye, Sir, because of it I say, that human rights 
are more than English race. And American rights 
mean human rights — or nothing. We stand on a 
great threshold: The cause we champion now for 
America must be fought by all times and peoples — 
and won, till our planet itself is free. Our cause, my 
lord, is noble: it is the cause of mankind. 

FAIRFAX 

Indeed! — / had fancied our cause was a colonial 
question, and America a British dependency. 

. WASHINGTON 
No less. Sir — but much more. American soil is for 
the seed of Adam, and its harvest — for the Creator. 

[The music of fifes and drumming sounds 
close-by, and in the background Negroes and 
Whites begin to gather, looking off.] 

JACK CUSTIS 

[Calls from the colonnade,] 
They're coming, Sir — the delegation from Alexan- 
dria. 



130 WASHINGTON [Act II 

FAIRFAX 

[With a sudden broken look and gesture of 
pain.^ 
Old days — old ways are dying, George: 'tis fitting 
that old-timers should follow 'em. 
[He turns away.] 

WASHINGTON 
[With quick emotion, going to him.} 
Old friendships are still green, my dear lord I 
[He embraces the old Man.] 

PATRICK HENRY 

[To Jack, in the background, vehemently.] 
The Lord of Hosts — the Lord of Hosts, my lad, beat 
His drums at the tent of David. 

MARTHA 

[Quietly, to Washington, who is just turning 
from Fairfax with twitching face.] 
George, — there's a flute in the saddle, and a nest in 
the sycamore. 

WASHINGTON 

[Pressing her hand.] 
Patsy! 

[Together, they draw slightly aside, as through 
the central arch of the colonnade — between the 



Act II] WASHINGTON 131 

piled travelling boxes — appears a band of fifers, 
playing the tune of 'Bands and Rebels,^ led by 
a FiFER and two Children, — a Boy with a drum 
and a Girl with a fiddle. The Fifer, clad like 
the Children in ragged regimentals, glances from 
under his cocked hat the wrinkly smile of QuiL- 

LOQUON. 

Passing through the gathered groups of darkies 
and citizens who cheer them in the background, 
they march drumming and fifing — straight down 
the centre of the grassy foreground. There — 
after passing Washington and Martha on their 
left — the Fifer and Children are shut off from 
the scene by the closing blue curtains of the thea- 
tre, in front of which they continue for a moment, 
standing, to fife, fiddle and drum their tune,] 



(Sixth Transition) 

At the close of the tune, Quilloquon stops fifing; 
takes off his hat; bows right and left to the Chil- 
dren; takes from the Boy his drum, inverts it 
and — sitting on it — hands his hat to the little 
Girl to hold. 

With the flute, he blows a note to get his pitch, then 
begins to sing. Squatted by his knees^ on either 



132 WASHINGTON [Act II 

side of him, the Children listen, clapping their 
hands at the end. 



QUILLOQUON 

There were some boys on Bunker's hill; 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
There were some boys on Bunker's hill; 
The King marched up, but they stood still. 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 

The King marched up to drive 'em down; 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
The King marched up to drive 'em down; 
He stubbed his toe and bumped his crown. 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 

He bumped his crown and made his will, 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 
He bumped his crown and made his will — 
And left those boys old Bunker's hill. 

Dellum-down, dellum-down! 

[Rising quickly with a chuckle, Quilloquon 
hands his flute to the Little Girl, puts on his 
hat, lifts the drum, slips it on the Boy, and takes 
from the Girl the fiddle and bow. 

Then, raising his bow for a director's signal, 
he begins to play Yankee Doodle, to which he 
marches as leader, off left, followed by the Girl 
and Boy fifing and drumming the tune. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 133 

The tune does not cease with their exit, but 
continues with a Chorus of Voices from behind 
the curtains,] 



EIGHTH ACTION 

The curtains draw back, discovering an open space 
between two dull-red brick buildings, with small- 
paned windows. On the left — beyond an old- 
time mounted cannon — is a plain, rustic table 
with benches. 

In the open space, young Soldier Fellows and Girls 
are dancing a country round-dance, cadenced to 
the clapping of hands and singing of the on- 
lookers — a miscellaneous crowd of Soldiers, 
Students and Civilians, some of whom sit astride 
and stand on the cannon. 

In the background, a wide constructed arch of ever- 
green boughs gives vista of an elm-shaded 
churchyard and a square-spired church beyond. 

From the top of the arch, draped at the centre about 
a crudely painted portrait-head of Washington, 
extends a weather-stained streamer with the in- 
scription : 
HAIL TO OUR COMMANDER IN CHIEF! 

The Dancers themselves join at times in the chorus 
and the clapping of the on-looking Singers, 



134 WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE SINGERS 

Tath'r and I went down to camp 

Along with Captain Good'in, 
And there we see the men and boys 

As thick as hasty puddin'. 

(Chorus) 

^Yankee Doodle, keep it up, 

Yankee Doodle dandy! 
Mind the music and the step 

And with the girls be handy. 

'And there was Captain Washington 

Upon a slappin' stallion, 
Agivin' orders to his men — 

I guess there was a million. 

'And there I see a little keg, 

Its head all made of leather; 
They knocked upon't with little sticks 

To call the folks together.' 

[Suddenly a hubbub in the background parts 
the groups of Dancers, and under the archway, 
down the centre — comes dancing a white Hobby- 
Horse, capering upon the two legs of Quillo- 
QUON, who is clad in blue with a blue jockey-cap, 
from which flames a brilliant red feather. 

Behind him, on either side, come galloping a 
Hobby -Lion and a Hobby -Unicorn, prancing re- 



Act II] WASHINGTON 135 

spectively on the legs of a Boy, who wears a red 
military jacket and gold crown, and of a Girl 
with a diadem circling her golden hair. The 
Boy bears a shield and The Little Girl car- 
ries a sceptre. 

Singing as he comes, and dashing into the mid- 
dle of the shouting Dancers — who draw back in a 
" wide circle — Quilloquon reins up his hobby- 
horse, cracking loudly a riding-whip in his 
hand. 

To the flickings of this, the Lion and the Uni- 
corn caper round and round him — sceptre 
thwacking shield, and roar answering whinny 
in their dance — while Quilloquon, dancing 
with them, sings lustily:^ 

QUILLOQUON 

'Yankee Doodle came to town 

Upon a spankin' pony, 
He stuck a feather in his cap 

And called it macaroni, 

^Yankee Doodle — ha! ha! ha! 

Cakes and sugar candy! 
Come listen to my story now 

Of Yankee Doodle dandy!' 

He went a huntin' by the bay 

Where Yankee he was born. Sir: 



136 WASHINGTON [Act II 

He trapped a roarin' lion there 
And catched a unicorn, Sir. 

{Chorus, with the On-lookers) 

^Yankee Doodle — ha! ha! ha! 

Cakes and sugar candy! 
Come listen to my story now 

Of Yankee Doodle dandy!' 

The lion roared so pesky loud 

It almost deefened Doodle, 
Till he took out his muzzle-gun 

And tamed him like a poodle. 

The unicorn she didn't care 

To catch the lion's hidin', 
And so they made a dandy team 

For Doodle's hobby-ridin'. 

{Chorus, of All) 

^Yankee Doodle — ha! ha! ha! 

Cakes and sugar candy! 
So here youve heard the story now 

Of Yankee Doodle dandy!' 

[Grinning at the On-lookers, with a low bow 
of his pony head, which raises his tail and 
haunches high in the air, Quilloquon cracks 
his whip again to the Lion and Unicorn and — 
driving them before him — gallops off the scene, 



Act II] WASHINGTON 137 

through the archway. During this he is greeted 
and followed by shouts from the gathering.] 

SHOUTS 

Heigh, Doodle, how much for your live-stock? 

Auction 'em over to Boston town house. General 
Gage he'd bid guineas for 'em. 

Yoke 'em up for Israel Put: he left his plough-team 
down to Greenwich. 

Hush up, fellers! Here comes the army chaplain. 

[From the door of the building on the right 
has come a Man of quiet presence, clad se- 
verely in black. He speaks with a strong, gentle 
voice and friendly smile.] 

THE MAN 

Friends, less hubbub, please! His Excellency, 
General Washington, is busily engaged there in Massa- 
chusetts Hall. He bids me remind you it is now some 
weeks since he took command of the army by the 
elm over yonder, so there is no further occasion for 
celebrations here in his honour. Work is our present 
duty: the siege of Boston and victory for our cause! 

A VOICE 

Well sarmoned. Minister Emerson! We're all 
with ye. 



138 WASHINGTON [Act II 

EMERSON 

[Smiling.] 
Thank you, friend, but you mustn't be with me. 
You must all go your ways. The young gentlemen 
of Harvard College among you will kindly disperse 
in good order. 

VOICES 

[Of the Gatherers, as they disperse and go 
out.] 

I. Come along to the common, boys! 

II. Let's take a look at the trenchments. 

III. Coin' back to camp? 

IV. No s'ree! I'm dog-tired o' this drillin'. I'm 
goin' ter hook it off home for a rest-up. I didn't vol- 
unteer till Kingdom-come. 

III. Me, nuther! I didn't cal'late on this racket 
lastin' all summer. My corn needs hoein' to home. 

EMERSON 

[To a young Man in uniform, who has come 
out of Massachusetts Hall.] 
You hear, Mr. Knox? — I beg pardon. Colonel! I 
still think of you as plain Henry Knox, selling books 
in Comhill. 

KNOX 

That's natural, Sir; we are all pretty new to this 
fighting business — except General Washington. It 
provides him harder tasks than Hercules, to break us 
in. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 139 

EMERSON 

Yes, I'm afraid there be Augean stables to clean — 
even in Cambridge. But the Lord hath sent us a 
Christian demi-god more resourceful than the pagan. 

KNOX 

A Conformist Christian, Sir: how do our Yankee 
dissenters take to that? 

EMERSON 

Why, Colonel, we never think of it, for his modesty 
never obtrudes his own sentiments. Unity appears 
his single aim — unity for America. 'Tis really sur- 
prising how this Southern aristocrat hath invaded our 
Puritan commonwealth and captured all our hearts. 

KNOX 
All our hearts — I believe you: but not all our can- 
tankerous egos, I've just left him in there — swarmed 
round by our buzzing committees. My word, Sir! I 
could only think on some high-mettled stallion, teth- 
ered in a pound, infested with cattle-flies! 

EMERSON 

[Smiling.] 
*And as oft as the trumpet soundeth, he saith AhaF 
Yet in harness he keeps surprisingly cool. I have 
even heard him called icy and aloof. 

KNOX 

His coolness is his patience, Sir: he's too masterful 



140 WASHINGTON [Act II 

to squirm at an itch. And as for that reputed ice of 
his, I fancy 'tis like our Charles river in April — 
when it thaws, there may be boomings, and large 
chunks heaved up on the banks! 

[He laughs low, and they pass together into 
Harvard Hall on the left. 

Meantime, a Group of sea-tanned fellows in 
fisherman s garb, who have failed to disperse and 
are flirting with some girls, begin to point and 
jeer at a Group of raw-boned men in Indian 
leather shirts, their long hair untied. 

This Second Group enter on the march. 
They carry a flag designed with the emblem of a 
snake, cut apart in several pieces, inscribed be- 
neath with the words ''Unite or Die.'* They are 
droning a song in chorus. 1^ 

THE SECOND GROUP 

[Singing.] 

Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 

Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down? 

Eden home is far away: 
Oh, never mind ! 
I'll lay my heart down, 

Down in the lap of old Virgin-ee-ay ! 

THE FIRST GROUP 

[Speaking, severally, while The Second 
Group is still singing.] 






Act II] WASHINGTON 141 

I. See, gals, here come the Jinnies! 

II. Jinnies? — where do they hail from? 

I. Jest weaned from Virginia's yams — homesick 
for their Mammy. 

III. They've come to save their country — singin' 
lullabies. 

IV. Heigh, Injun Jinny! — Lay your heart down in 
my lap, will ye? 

[The Second Group pause, glowering — and 
cease their song.] 

THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 

Who do you-all 'low you's addressin'? 

THE FIRST GROUP LEADER 

[Mocking the other's drawl and speech.li 
We-all 'low we's addressin' the renowned tribe o' 
Pocahontas, known as "Jinny" for short. 

[The First Group roar with laughter, at 
which The Second Group begin fiercely to un- 
sling their guns.] 

one of the second group 
Them stinkers is Johnnies from Marblehead. I 
know 'em. 

another 
Baste 'em, boys! 

[Some of the Girls scream, and draw back.] 



142 WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 

Slow, thar! No gunnin'! This-yere ain't fire- 
arms, it's forearms! 

[Stepping into the centre and rolling his 
sleeves.] 
Which one o' you cod-fish wants saltin' down for 
the lot? 

THE FIRST 

[Doing likewise.} 
Which one o' you redskins wants your leather 
tanned? 

THE TWO GROUPS 

[Surrounding the two and flinging taunts at 
each other.] 

I. Jinny! Jinny! Jinny, come kiss me! — Kin I 
pick ye, mountain-daisy? 

II. Cod-livers! Stink-oils! Pickle-herrin's! 

THE SECOND GROUP LEADER 

[Squaring off^ with bared arms.] 
You fer me. Jack! 

THE FIRST 

[Doing the same.] 
Me fer you. Jinny! 

[The two draw back, then strike out fiercely 
at each other in a fisting match, which rapidly 



Act II] WASHINGTON 143 

becomes a rough-and-tumble wrestling fight, 
egged on wildly by the jeering shouts ''Tar him, 
Johnny F' ''Pickle him, Jinny!'' etc., yelled by 
the Marble-headers and Virginians. 

At the height of this tumult, the towering fig- 
ure of Washington, in General's uniform, ap- 
pears, bareheaded, in the doorway of Massachu- 
setts Hall, lunges with huge strides through the 
group, flinging men headlong in his wake, seizes 
the two Combatants sprawling on the ground, 
drags them to their feet by their shirt-napes, 
shakes them fiercely, and knocks their heads to- 
gether. 

So, holding the two at anns length, he stands 
glaring at them. 

The uproar is stilled to a scene of dumb stupe- 
faction, through which the low voice of Knox, 
— who has appeared with Emerson at the door 
of Harvard Hall — is heard speaking to the Min- 
ister, as he nudges his arm and points.] 

KNOX 

The ice has thawed, Mr. Emerson. 

WASHINGTON 

[Exploding.] 
By the great horn spoon of Jehosaphat! — What's 
this mean? 

[The two Combatants gape, staring.] 



144 WASHINGTON [Act II 

What's in your tamal skulls — ^ha? — mule-bran, or 
brains? 

[The Men salute him dumbly.] 
Are you soldiers — or squabbling nincumpoops? 
[The Men laugh nervously. Washington 
loosens his grip, flinging them off.] 
Sniggering? — What's to snigger for? No tongues! 
Must I slit 'em for ye? Speak out — Where are you 
from? 

THE FIRST LEADER 

Marblehead. I fish thar. I'm a Massachusettser. 
WASHINGTON 

[To the Other.] 
And you? 

THE SECOND 

Me, General? — Reckon I's Virginian — like yerself. 
Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

You reckon wrong, then. In this army, there's no 
Virginians nor Massachusettsers ; there's only Ameri- 
icans. You understand? You and him and me — 
we are all just Americans: nothing else, my men, and 
nothing better. 

[ To one of The Second Group, who holds the 
flag with the snake device.] 
Give me that flag! 

[Points to the snake.] 
What's this? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 145 

THE SECOND LEADER 

'Pears like a rattler — what needs splicin'. 

WASHINGTON 

Just SO : the pieces have got to be spliced, or he's a 
goner. Ever see a cut-up rattler that could fight? 

THE SECOND 

Not yit, sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[To the other Man.] 
You, — can you read ? 

THE FIRST LEADER 

I kerry "Poor Richard's Almanack" in my kit. 

WASHINGTON 

Read this, then : Poor Richard wrote it. 

THE FIRST 

[Reading from the flag.] 
"Unite or die." 

WASHINGTON 

And what's that mean? 

THE FIRST 

I guess that'll mean — stick together, or git stept on. 

WASHINGTON 

Aye, my lads: stand up, together! That's what 



146 WASHINGTON [Act II 

we've all got to do in America — from now on. I 
reckon that's enough for preachment. Bumped heads 
are better than book-larnin' — to start with; the rest 
is brains and gumption. So give me your hands, 
here! Stand together, North and South, and splice 
up! 

[Taking each by the hand, he brings the two 
Leaders together. 

Grinning sheepishly, they extend their right 
hands to each other and grip. 

As they do so, Washington, relaxing to a faint 
smile, lays his own hand on theirs conjoined, 
and says with a grim solemnity:] 
For better, or for worse! 

[Approaching with Knox, Emerson adds im- 
mediately — with a twinkling look and a minis- 
terial gesture:] 

EMERSON 

I, Jonathan, take thee, Virginia! — ^Amen, boys? 

THE LEADERS 

[Together, with a laugh.] 
Amen, Sir! 

WASHINGTON 

Now pack off, and keep camp orderly! 

THE LEADERS 
Aye, General. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 147 

EMERSON 

[Smiling, calls after them.] 
And remember, young folks — for better or for 
worse. 

WASHINGTON 

Especially — worse ! 

[ With shamefaced grins, The Leaders hasten 
off, surrounded and followed by The Two 
Groups, tittering and whispering together. The 
murmur of their talk grows louder as they pass 
outside.] 

EMERSON 

Pardon my interpolation, your Excellency, but you 
seemed to have need of the chaplain. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah, Sir, I can deliver the trouncin's, but I wish 
you could relieve me of the sarmons. I'm a sorry 
hand at 'em. 

[Outside, a mans voice shouts, loudly, fol- 
lowed by a momentary hubbub.] 

THE voice 
Hurray for George Washington of Virginia! 

WASHINGTON 

Virginia! Hear 'em? That's how long they re- 
member my preachments! 



148 WASHINGTON [Act II 

KNOX 

Can we confer here a moment, General, or have you 
not finished with the committees? 

WASHINGTON 

Finished — with committees? 

[He makes a forlorn gesture of resignation,] 
Sir, I have lately composed my epitaph: — "Here 
lies a commander-in-chief, called to his account by 
committees." 

[With a sudden look at the door of Massa- 
chusetts Hall, he pauses quickly, takes from his 
pocket a little box, turns to the Chaplain, and 
speaks in confidential tone.] 
Mr. Emerson — would you do me a favour? 

EMERSON 

You would favour me by asking it, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

'Tis cool here in the shade; I require some confer- 
ence with Colonel Knox. — My man Billy is on duty 
indoors there, as beagle to the committees. 
[Handing him the little box.] 

Will you take him this snuff-box, and tell him to 
trail the pack to my office in Wadsworth house. 

EMERSOI^ 

[Mystified.] 
Trail the pack. Sir? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 149 

WASHINGTON 

With the fox's brush. He's an old huntsman at 
Mt. Vernon. 

EMERSON 

[Blankly,] 
But this snufF-box? 

WASHINGTON 
'Tis a signal, Sir. Billy understands the code. 
It means — sidetrack the quarry. 

EMERSON 

[More blankly.] 
Of course, your Excellency. 

[Emerson goes into the hall, right. 
Washington turns toward the mounted cannon 
and table, left.] 

WASHINGTON 
Meanwhile, Colonel^ the quarry will take lair be- 
hind this field-piece. 

[The smile passes from his face, and he sits 
on a bench, drawing a deep breath, wearily.] 

KNOX 

[Sitting on another bench.] 
Well, Sir, twelve thousand redcoats in Boston — 
equipped and disciplined: General Gage has 'em 
perfectly supplied. Howe's fleet commands the wat- 
ers. You have a huge task. General. 



150 WASHINGTON [Act II 

WASHINGTON 
[Murmurs low.] 
Ha! 

KNOX 

Our own men of New England — 

WASHINGTON 

[Looking up quickly.] 
How many took to the tall timber yesterday? 

KNOX 

I regret to say — more than two hundred. That 
makes — the last fortnight — over a thousand, have re- 
turned to their farms. If only Congress would au- 
thorize longer enlistments — 

WASHINGTON 

Ha! — Congress! 

KNOX 

Or if we had ships — 

WASHINGTON 

Ships! — Congress, Sir, complains we haven't cap- 
tured the harbour without 'em. 

KNOX 

Tndy! Well, at least, on land we've shown some 
of our native mettle on Bunker's hill. 

[Washington rises slowly and bows.] 



Act II] WASHINGTON 151 

WASHINGTON 

Colonel Knox! to the real patriots of Bunker hill, — 
like yourself, Sir, — I make my bow, from my heart. 
But as for the dirty rascals that keep trading their 
Bunker patriotism for their own local profits — well, 
Sir, I do not make my bow to 'em: I take my seat — 
and I wish they occupied this bench. 
[He sits down with vigour.] 

KNOX 

The present situation is scandalous. Sir. I am 
sorry the militia officers do so little to improve it. 

WASHINGTON 

Naturally: they are too rotten with politics. Being 
elected by their raw militia, they are more attentive 
to the smiles of their men than the frowns of their 
commander-in-chief. There's no getting such officers 
to execute orders. All the same, I have made a pretty 
good slam amongst 'em. 

KNOX 

How's that. General? 

WASHINGTON 

Well, Sir, since I came into this camp, I have broke 
one colonel and two captains for cowardly behaviour 
in the action on Bunker Hill, two captains for draw- 
ing more pay and provisions than they had men in 
their company, and one for being absent from his post 



152 WASHINGTON [Act II 

when the enemy appeared there. Besides these, I 
have one colonel, one major, one captain and two sub- 
alterns under arrest for trial. Yet I fear it will not 
all do, as these people seem to be too attentive to 
everything but their own interests. 

KNOX 

[Gloomily.] 
'Tis pity indeed the good name of New England is 
involved. 'Tis very dear to many of us, who would 
gladly die for it. I am very dejected. General. 

WASHINGTON 

Nay, Sir, don't be ! The grain will grow, the chaff 
blow away. If we succeed in this business — as by 
God's will we shall — never worry : there'll be nothing 
left but heroes for posterity. 

[From the hall, right, Billy the Negro comes 
rushing toward them — his black face twitching 
excitedly above his scarlet-and-white livery. In 
one hand he waves Washington's snuff -box.] 

BILLY 

Marse Ex'lency, dey's on yo' trail: watch out! 

WASHINGTON 

[Rising, with Knox.] 
Who's on my trail, Billy — posterity? 

BILLY 

Yas'r, gospel verity an' troof ! Dey's too sharp-in- 



Act II] WASHINGTON 153 

de-nose fo' you ter 'scape 'em, Fse awarn you! Dey 
is nebber gwine gib you no hole in de groun', fo' ter 
lay down an' stretch yo'self cumptible ; no, s'r. 

WASHINGTON 

[With a smiling glance at Knox.] 
You see my doom, Colonel! 

BILLY 

No, s'r: I 'pol'gizes. 

[Showing the snuff -box, '\ 

I done got yo' signal, but dey's too smart fo' mah 
'umble 'tainments in de side-trackin' line. De ge'men 
down home Virginny dey's receib a p'lite fibbin' like 
ge'men and dey's return de compl'ment. When I tells 
'em you's in de bam, dey ain't gwine ter peek fer you 
in de drawin'-room. Dey's 'low dey got a prev'ous 
'gagement an' go 'long home. But dese yere Cam- 
bridge ge'men — 'clare ter hebben, s'r! — dey ain't got 
no 'stinctive feelin's fo' high-bo'n fibbin', what leabs 
out de low-down fax; no, s'r! 

WASHINGTON 

Cut it short, Billy: what are the facts? 

BILLY 

De low-down fax is, Marse Ex'lency — 

[As he hesitates, three Civilians, clad in 
grey, come out of Massachusetts Hall and ap- 
proach. Catching sight of them, Billy draws 



154 WASHINGTON [Act II 

himself up, with official pomp, and speaks with 
easy indifference:] 
Here dey comes, s'r: dey speaks fo' deirselfs. 

THE FIRST CIVILIAN 

[To the other two, pointing at Washington.] 
There he is: I told you so. 

[Drawing near. ] 
We've been waitin', Mr. Washington — 

WASHINGTON 

[Quickly.] 
Your pardon, Sir? To whom are you referring? 

THE CIVILIAN 

Why, to you! Ain't you the General here? 

WASHINGTON 

Quite right, Sir; I am the General, 

THE CIVILIAN 

Wall, General Washington, we've been waitin' for 
you half an hour. 

WASHINGTON 

[Bowing slightly.] 
The pleasure is mutual. Sir. 

THE CIVILIAN 

We have the honour to be the selectmen of this 
town. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 155 

WASHINGTON 

The honour. Sir, seems to be appreciated. 

THE SELECTMAN 

Thought may be you wasn't informed — considerin' 
that half hour wait. 

WASHINGTON 

Half an hour can be very informing — or otherwise. 

THE SELECTMAN 

[Fastening his eyes on Billy.] 
Considerin' also we ain't accustomed in this local- 
ity to crossin' our crows with scarlet tanagers. 

WASHINGTON 

The locality is a bit drab. Sir. 

THE SELECTMAN 

[Sitting on one of the benches — his compan- 
ions on the other,] 
But comin' straight to business, General Washing- 
ton: we as selectmen have received great numbers o' 
complaints from our townfolks about your diggin's 
and doin's: your trenchments and your intrudin' sol- 
dier-camps. All o' which causes wrack and ruin to 
private property. It conflicts with personal rights, 
Sir! When is it goin' to end? 

WASHINGTON 

With the attainment of our object — liberty. 



156 WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE SELECTMAN 

Liberty and welcome! But where is it? This 
here is individual slavery. 

WASHINGTON 

A great evil, Sir, which each of us today must suf- 
fer in pait, for the general good of tomorrow. 

THE SELECTMAN 

Tomorrow! — These here testimonies ain't dated to- 
morrow, I'm tellin' ye, but now! 

WASHINGTON 

Testimonies? 

THE SELECTMAN 
[Taking out papers.] 
These documents set forth the lawful grievances of 
the complainants in re flagrant offences committed un- 
der your orders. Sir. Here's private lawns dug up 
with trenchments, owners' residences confiscated for 
forts, fields and orchards laid common, houses and 
cattle turned in the mowin', com crops eat to the 
ground, and the best citizens' shade trees cut down 
for firewood and public buildin's. — What, I ask, Sir, 
what have you to say to these things? 

WASHINGTON 

A sad devastation : 'Tis a great pity. 



• 1^1 



Act II] WASHINGTON 157 

THE SELECTMAN 

[With a keen look, rising.^ 
Wall, General, what's the price? 

WASHINGTON 

Price, Sir? 

THE SELECTMAN 

That's the question. I calc'late a great pity don't 
call for a small payment. 

WASHINGTON 

No, Sir: a large payment. 

THE SELECTMAN 

Very good. In cases of confiscation, the law of 
escheat provides for appropriate damages. So I 
trust, General, you've ben thinkin' over the proper 
basis of valuation for all this destruction. 

WASHINGTON 

I have. Sir; I trust you have also. 

THE SELECTMAN 

Ye-es; I'm pretty well primed on real estate. But 
supposin' you speak first. What's your rate of esti- 
mate — rock-bottom ? 

WASHINGTON 

My estimate is an alternative. 



158 WASHINGTON [Act II 

THE SELECTMAN 

Alternative? — between which? 

WASHINGTON 

Licking or Liberty: there's no other rock-bottom 
for American real estate. 

[The Selectman stares. 
Knox, who has received and read a document, 
delivered by an Orderly, hands it gravely to 
Washington.] 

KNOX 

Report, your Excellency, on our present supply of 
powder. 

WASHINGTON 

What is our supply? 

KNOX 

[Loivering his voice,] 
None, Sir. 

[Under the archway, a Grindstone Man, 
pushing his wheel, has entered, attended by two 
Children, carrying in their arms enormous axes. 

The Selectman, who has muttered some 
hasty ivords to his two companions, now turns 
again to Washington and speaks in a tone of 
defiant sarcasm.] 

the selectman 
General Washington! If you think, Sir, that men 
of real business in this section — 



Act II] WASHINGTON 159 

THE GRINDSTONE MAN 

[Ringing his hand-belL] 
Axes to grind! Axes to grind! 

THE SELECTMAN 

[Raising his voice.] 
If you think that the lawful owners of private prop- 
erty are going to stand for such public confiscation, 
without equivalent in cash or bonds — 

THE GRINDSTONE MAN 

[Trundling his wheel between The Select- 
man and Washington, and clangorously ring- 
ing his bell, bawls louder:] 
Axes to grind! Axes to grind! 



(Seventh Transition) 

(Part 1) 

So, escorted by the Children as ax-bearers, The 
Grindstone Man crosses diagonally down cen- 
tre, and begins singing — to an old ballad tune — 
in the voice of Quilloquon: 

QUILLOQUON 

Jack went amarching 

With trouble on his mind. 



160 WASHINGTON [Act II 

To serve his native country 
When axes were to grind. 
Sing ree and sing low, 
So fare you well, my dear! 

[Through the closing blue curtains at the cen- 
tre, QuiLLOQUON slips out in front of them with 
the Children. There — stopping his trundle — 
he begins to push the wheel-treadle with his foot, 
taking, examining and rejecting various axes 
handed to him by the Children, while he con- 
tinues to sing to the revolving motion of the 
grindstone wheels:^ 

Night-time and noon-time 
With trouble on your mind, 

'Tis how to serve your country 
With axes for to grind. 
Sing ree and sing low, etc. 

Great folks and small folks 
With nothing on their mind 

But how to make the wheels turn 
Their axes for to grind. 
Sing ree and sing low, etc. 

Dull blades and broke blades 

And any other kind, 
'Tis all to get poor Work-Jack 

Their axes for to grind. 
Sing ree and sing low, etc. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 161 

[Waving off the Children with their axes, he 
takes — from within his trundle — a small hatchet, 
and begins to sharpen it, with a laugh.] 

Nay, leave Jack his hatchet: 
'Tis that alone he'll grind — 

And leave to them their axes 
And the trouble on his mind ! 

[Pausing, he rings his bell and — dismissing 
the Children right and left along the front of 
the curtains — he backs his trundle through the 
centre folds, and blowing a kiss, sings there the 
parting refrain: 

Sing ree and sing low. 

So fare you well, my dear! 

With a final shake of his bell, he disappears. 



(Part 2) 

The bell continues to ring behind the curtains, but 
grows more faint; till now its tone changes to a 
deep, mellow pealing; and now its rhythmic 
cadence is mingled with far-sounding chimes, 
through which low murmurous Voices of many 
people rise, fall and rise again more loud — like 
a great wind, heard distantly, over forest trees. 

At first hardly audible, the deep Murmur grows grad- 
ually more articulate, till — between the pulsing 



162 WASHINGTON [Act II 

chimes — occasional words and phrases emerge 
distinguishable, above this flowing utterance of 
the chanting Voices: 

THE VOICES 
'When, in the course of human events, it becomes 
necessary for one people to dissolve the political 
bands which have connected them with another, — 

'And to assume among the powers of the earth the 
separate and equal station to which the Laws of Na- 
ture and of Nature's God entitle them, — 

'A decent respect for the opinions of mankind re- 
quires that they should declare the causes which impel 
them to the separation.' 

[As the murmurous Chant lessens to a lull, 
there is heard a single Voice intoning "Oyez!" 
and the blue curtains are seen to have parted 
slightly at the centre, discovering — against a 
background of dark — the Figure of a Town 
Crier, holding in his left hand a staff to which is 
attached a lantern, and of which the heraldic top 
is a hatchet-blade. 

The Crier holds near the lantern in his right 
hand a paper broadside, from which — after call- 
ing his Preamble — he reads aloud, intoning with 
the voice of Quilloquon;] 

the crier 
[Quilloquon] 
Oyez! Oyez! People of America, hear ye! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 163 

This day, in the town hall of Philadelphia, duly 
convened, — this day in the year of our Lord, One 
Thousand, Seven Hundred and Seventy-Six, — being 
the Fourth day of July — forevermore, unto all peo- 
ples, declareth the Assembly of our people: 

'We hold these truths to be self-evident: — that all 
men are created equal, — that they are endowed by 
their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, — that 
among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Hap- 
piness, — that to secure these rights. Governments are 
instituted among men, deriving their just powers from 
the consent of the governed. 

'That whenever any form of Government becomes 
destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People 
to alter or to abolish it. 

'And when a long train of abuses evinces a design 
to reduce them under absolute Despotism, — it is their 
right, it is their duty to throw off such Government, — 
and to provide new Guards for their future security. 

'Such has been the patient suffrance of these Col- 
onies. 

'Our repeated petitions have been answered only 
by repeated injury. — A Prince, whose character is 
thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, 
is unfit to be the ruler of a free people. — 

^We, therefore, The Representatives of the United 
States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, 



164 WASHINGTON [Act II 

— appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the 
rectitude of our intentions, — do, in the Name, and by 
the authority of the good People of these Colonies, — 
solemnly Publish and Declare, 

'That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought 
to be, — Free and Independent States! 

'And for the support of this Declaration, we mu- 
tually pledge to each other — our Lives, our Fortunes i 
and our sacred Honour.' 

[As the Town Crier concludes, a Boy and a 
Girl run in from either side, raising their hands 
toward the paper broadsides, from one of several 
copies of which he has been reading. 

Handing to each a copy, he raises his lantern- 
staff, and as they run off, right, he follows, call- 
ing aloud :^ 
Oyez! Oyez! People of the Ages, — hear ye! 



(Part 3) 

In the distance. The Crier's repeated call of "Oyez!" 
is dying away on the right, when on the left a 
fiddle begins to play the melody of a ballad- 
tune,^ during which the visible dim space be- 
comes palely luminous with a swirling greyness, 
as of snowflakes beginning to fall. 

^ The melody of 'Raggle-Taggle Gypsies.' 



Act II] WASHINGTON 165 

And now — the fiddle having ceased — to a thrumming 
of the same tune upon strings, three tattered 
greyish forms enter from the left: the two Chil- 
dren and a Man, who is playing a dulcimer. 

All three — recognizable once more as The Boy, 
The Girl and Quilloquon — come singing the 
ballad-tune words, which they act out in their 
pantomime, severally assuming the parts, in sim- 
ple ballad fashion, of the characters their song 
refers to — Lord, Lady, Servants and Gypsies. 

the three figures 
[Quilloquon and the Children] 
'There were three gypsies a-come to my door, 

And down-stairs ran this a-lady, 0! 
One sang high and the other sang low, 

And the other sang Bonny, bonny Biscay, 0! 

[The Girl] 

'Then she pulled off her silk-finished gown 
And put on hose of leather, ! 

[The Boy and Quilloquon] 
'The ragged, ragged rags about our door — 
She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 
[The Little Girl runs off right.'] 

[The Boy] 
' 'Twas late last night when my lord came home, 
Inquiring for his a-lady, 0. 



166 WASHINGTON [Act II 

The servants said on every hand: 

She's gone with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 

[QuiLLOQUON turns and addresses The Boy.] 

[Quilloquon] 
'Come, saddle to me my milk-white steed, 

And go and fetch my pony, 0! 
That I may ride and seek my bride, 

Who is gone with the raggle-taggle. gypsies, 0! 

[The two run off, right. 

The Little Girl alone enters immediately, 
left, followed — to the thrumming of the dul- 
cimer — by The Boy, who remains near his place 
of entrance and sings. 

While he does so, Quilloquon enters, passes 
him, and advances toward The Girl, looking 
about, seeming at first not to see her,] 

[The Boy] 
'Then he rode high, and he rode low. 

He rode through wood and copses, too, 
Until he came to an open field. 

And there he espied his a-lady, ! 

[Quilloquon, approaching the Girl, with as- 
pect of lordly severity.] 
'What makes you leave your house and land? 
What makes you leave your money, 0! 



4 



Act II] WASHINGTON 167 

What makes you leave your new-wedded lord. 
To go with the raggle-taggle gypsies, ! 

[The Girl] 
'0, what care I for my house and land? 

What care I for my money, 0? 
What care I for my new- wedded lord? 
I'm off with the raggle-taggle gypsies, ! 

[The falling snow flakes grow thicker and the 
scene more dim.] 

[Quilloquon] 
'Last night you slept on a goose-feather bed, 

With the sheet turned down so bravely, 0! 
But to-night you'll sleep in a cold open field, 

Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0! 

[The Girl] 
'0, what care I for a goose-feather bed. 

With the sheet turned down so bravely, 0! 
For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field — 

Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 0!' 

[With a swift, proud gesture of departure, lift- 
ing her last song-note to its octave higher, the 
little Girl goes off, right, with steps of gladness, 
while Quilloquon — in crestfallen grandeur — 
strides off with the Boy, left. 

The Girl's voice, however, has hardly 
ceased, and Quilloquon has not yet disap- 



168 WASHINGTON [Act II 

peared, when a Mans Voice is heard singing 
through the dim whirling snowfall:] 

THE man's voice 

[Sings huskily.] 
'0, what care I for a goose-feather bed, 

With the sheet turned down so bravely, ! 
For tonight — I shall sleep in a cold open field 

Along with the raggle-taggle gypsies, 01' 

[Then suddenly the Voice speaks, with sharp 
staccato.] 
Who goes there? 



NINTH ACTION 

The Man^s Voice breaks in a raspy fit of coughing. 

While he has sung, the blue curtains have drawn back 
to the width of the full stage-aperture, revealing 
the Singer himself — a Sentinel, in ragged Ameri- 
can uniform, standing in the night near a low- 
burning camp-fire {left). 

The snow has ceased falling. The fire dimly lights by 
its gleam a space surrounded by vaguely dis- 
cerned walls of snow-laden woods, except in the 
background. There — between boles of trees, 
rising like columns of grey ice — an arch-like 



Act II] WASHINGTON 169 

opening gives glimpses of struggling moonlight 
and gusty, grey-black darkness, through which a 
low, muffled thudding and crackling murmur 
rise occasionally to the ear. 

Holding for a moment his musket poised, the Sentinel 
looks off (left), listening. Then, lowering his 
gun and turning to the fire, he crouches by it, 
blows his fingers, takes from within his tattered 
coat a little book, holds it open near the firelight 
and begins writing in it. 

While he does so, through the glooming aperture in 
the background, the tall, silhouetted form of 
Washington, in long military cloak, his hands 
gripped behind him, is seen to pace slowly past 
and disappear {right) . 

The Sentinel stops writing, gesticulates to himself, 
muttering; then reads aloud from his book. 

THE sentinel 

*0 ye, that love mankind! Ye that dare oppose 
not only tyranny but the tyrant, stand forth! Every 
spot of the Old World is overrun with oppression. 
Freedom hath been hunted round the globe. 0, re- 
ceive the fugitive, and prepare in time an asylum for 
mankind!' 

[Coughing slightly, he stares a moment in the 
fire: then ivrites again. 

In the background, the dim form of Wash- 



170 WASHINGTON [Act II 

INGTON, returning, paces past and disappears, 
left. 

Half rising now from his crouched posture, 
the Sentinel reads again from his book in the 
firelight, with gesture as of ardent conversation 
with another,] 

'To see it in our power to make a world happy, to 
teach mankind the art of being so, to exhibit on the 
theatre of the universe a character hitherto unknown, 
and to have, as it were, a new creation entrusted to 
our hands, — are honours that command reflection.' 

[Closing his book, he looks intently in the 
night. Then suddenly, dropping the book, he 
seizes up his gun, leaps to his feet and calls out:] 

Who goes there? 



THE man's voice 



[Answers from outside, left.] 
Merry Christmas! 

THE SENTINEL 
Merry Christmas, yourself! 

[A Man limps wearily in, through a gap in 
the snoiv-covered evergreens. The firelight re- 
veals him also forlornly clad in ragged regi- 
mentals. The Sentinel half lowers his gun.] 
What's your name, and allegiance? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 171 

THE MAN 

Lieutenant James Monroe, of the United States. 

THE SENTINEL 
[Saluting — a bit slouchily, like a civilian.^ 
'Which are, and of right ought to be, free and inde- 
pendent!' Pass, Lieutenant Monroe, in the name of 
our immortal Declaration. 

MONROE 

Immortal, Sir, let us hope, but ought to be isn't are 
by a long shot — whatever Mr. Jefferson hath immor- 
tally declared for us. 

[Sitting on a rock by the fire, he examines his 
foot,] 

THE SENTINEL 

[Bending over him.] 
Lord, lieutenant, your foot's bloody — bleeding bad! 
Here, wait a minute. 

[Tearing a strip from his own regimentals, he 
kneels down beside Monroe.] 
You need bandaging. 

MONROE 

Thanks, friend. We all do — in this uniform. 

[Behind them the shadowy form of Washing- 
ton paces past again, and noiselessly disappears. 

While the Sentinel is stooping over, wrap- 
ping his companions foot in bandages, MoN- 



172 WASHINGTON [Act II 

roe's hand — resting on the book — raises it. 
Glancing curiously at the open page, he mut- 
ters:] 
Hello, what's here? 

[The Sentinel looks up an instant, but goes 
on immediately with his occupation, Monroe 
reads aloud:] 

'These are the times that try men's souls. The 
summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this 
crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he 
that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of 
man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily 
conquered.' 

[Turning to the front of the book, he looks 
closely and reads:] 
"Tom Paine: His Note Book."— Great Caesar! 
Where did this come from? 

THE sentinel 

From a hater of Caesar — out of my breast pocket, 
Sir. 

MONROE 

Yours! You — Thomas Paine, the author of "Com- 
monsense"? 

PAINE 

Unauthorized by His Majesty: that's me. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 173 

MONROE 

[Rising and saluting,] 
Why, Sir, permit me to salute — the Revolution! 
'Tis a privilege to meet Public Opinion face to face. 

PAINE 

You meet just a sentinel at his post. Sir. 'Tis a 
privilege of serving Liberty, to inquire: "Who goes 
there?" 

MONROE 

Your inquiry will bum the ears of kings till their 
doomsday, Mr. Paine. Your challenge rings over the 
Atlantic. For my part, I should like to see it made 
the Atlantic doctrine — No passing for Old World 
tyrants this side of the world! 

PAINE 

And why not doctrine for t'other side, too, Mr. 
Monroe? 

MONROE 

[Sitting again,] 
Well, Sir, — a touch of modesty. I administer my 
doctrine by the dose — ^half a world at a time. 

PAINE 

Not me, lieutenant. My mother didn't bear me 
modest, nor twins; so, following her maternal exam- 
ple, I never give birth to a principle by hemispheres. 



174 WASHINGTON [Act II 

MONROE 

[Holding one foot and twinging J\ 
Well and good, Mr. Paine, but hadn't we better 
confine our universal dreams to gypsy camps — con- 
sidering our style of bed tonight? 

PAINE 

[Humming the words. ^ 

'0, what care I for a goose-feather bed 

With the sheet turned down — ' 
[Breaking off with a short laugh.'l 
Ha! "Raggle-taggle": that's the tune of Revolu- 
tion, Sir. 

MONROE 

[Wearily.] 
Oh, I don't know! There's times I almost think we 
deserve goose-feathers — and tar, too — for such loy- 
alty as ours. 

PAINE 
[Sharply.] 
What's that! Is that your ripe judgment of our 
cause? 

MONROE 

No, Sir, not ripe — just rotten. I'm dog-tired — 
tired of failure. The game's up! We know our 
dreams — but look at the facts. 

PAINE 
Well — what facts? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 175 

MONROE 

Listen! 

[He pauses a moment,] 
You hear that sound? 

[They both listen in silence. 
Shadowy in the background, the form of 
Washington re-passes and disappears,] 

PAINE 

You mean the river there — the ice rattling? 

MONROE 

Yes : the death-rattle of our rebellion. I mean, that 
Delaware river can tell our story. That's us — the 
American army. Last summer, what were we? The 
warm, quick stream of our country's passion, welling 
like hot blood, pouring out of the hills — the turbulent 
current of a continent. And now, in December, — 
what now, ha? That's us — out there: a death-cold 
stream, congealing while we move: a current choked 
up with the ice of its own broken heart — any hour to 
be buried under, gone, stone-cold as this river bank 
tonight. 

PAINE 

[Humming, as he fondles his musket.] 
'For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open field' — 

[Speaking.] 
And those facts, Lieutenant?/ Skip the metaphors. 



176 WASHINGTON [Act II 

MONROE 

Facts, Sir? The facts are disaster and retreat. At 
Brooklyn Heights — failure, retreat; New York — the 
same; Fort Washington, Fort Lee — lost, both; the 
Hudson — lost; and here now for months in Jersey — 
ignominious retreat: deserters, dropping off like rats 
from a wreck: militia without honour; officers without 
obedience; a Congress that votes battalions, but no 
money — and this nearly two years since Bunker Hill! 
So here, Mr. Paine, this Christmas night, while the 
German hirelings are rum-drinking over the river 
there in Trenton — these are the facts : To expel from 
America His Majesty's twenty-five thousand regulars, 
stuffed with plum pudding — here we are : twenty-four 
hundred retreating frozen-bellied gypsies! 

PAINE 
[Quickly,] 
And one general. 

MONROE 

[Rising slowly, speaks with quiet emotion.l 
Aye, Sir — one general. After all, for us, I guess 
that's the only fact. For, if needs be, we'll follow 
that one the gypsy path to hell. 

PAINE 

[With a gesture of silence, points to the back- 
ground,] 
Shh! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 111 

[Silently, once more, in dim silhouette, the 
form of Washington paces past and is gone. 
For a moment, they stand watching, motionless. 
Then Monroe speaks, under his breath,!^ 

MONROE 

Him? — Is this camp-fire his? 

PAINE 

[Nodding.^ 
I'm his sentinel here. 

MONROE 

I bear a dispatch to him. 

PAINE 

Not now: not for half an hour. That's my orders. 
He's thinking. He thinks — alone. 

MONROE 
And walks like that? 

PAINE 

Sometimes. Sometimes he just stands — like a tree 
— all night. 

MONROE 

What, and sleeps — standing? 
PAINE 

Not sleeps, I guess; though often his eyes are 



178 WASHINGTON [Act II 

closed. He calls it, — taking his cat-naps. And 
sometimes he takes 'em walking. 

MONROE 

Walking! 

PAINE 
Like we saw — there. 

MONROE 

[Taking out a folded paper, 1 
But this dispatch, Mr. Paine? 

PAINE 

Follow me, Sir: I'll take you to Colonel Hamilton. 
Since the General met him in New York, he's made a 
son of him. — He's over yonder, with General Knox. 

MONROE 

[Taking Paine' s hand in the dim light, follows 
him, limping.^ 
Some future Christmas, Mr. Paine, we must resume 
our fireside conversation on the doctrine of hemi- 
spheres. 

PAINE 

Hemispheres? — No, Sir: give me globes! 

[They disappear in the darkness. 
After a moment — pacing past again in the 
background — the huge form of Washington 



Act II] WASHINGTON 179 

pauses, comes slowly down half way to the fire 
. and stands there. 

In long military cloak, three-cornered hat, and 
great boots, his hands still clutched behind him — 
his posture is erect as an Indian. 

Around his throat is a piece of woollen cloth. 

His eyes are intently fixed, his lips compressed 
with painful tightness. 

He remains perfectly motionless. 

Vaguely the sounds of wind and river-ice 
deepen the silence of their pausings. 

Soon, from the right, very quietly, the slight 
small form of a young Man comes into the gleam 
of the fire. He is in uniform, shabby but borne 
with alert distinction. He passes over to the fire 
and waits there. 

As he crosses the gaze of Washington, the 
eyes of the latter follow him and continue to look 
at him for a moment, before he speaks in a tone 
hoarse with cold.'\ 

WASHINGTON 

Ah ! Hamilton — you ? 

HAMILTON 

Yes, your Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

Are the boats secured? 



180 WASHINGTON [Act II 

HAMILTON 

Yes, your Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

All? 

HAMILTON 

Yes, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmurs.] 
Ah! 

[Slowly, he begins to pace again, 

Hamilton waits, near the fire. 

Soon Washington speaks again, abrupt,"] 
Oh! Alexander! 

HAMILTON 

What, Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

You dispatched my letter to Mt. Vernon? 

HAMILTON 

To Lady Washington: Yes, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmuring low, as he paces.] 
You're a good boy — you're a good boy — 

[After a moment, pausing again, he speaks 
with staccato sharpness,] 
Well?— Well? Your report! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 181 

HAMILTON 

This message, by Lieutenant Monroe, from General 
Gates at Bristol. Shall I read it, Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

No: give me the gist. 

HAMILTON 

General Gates has received your orders. He un- 
derstands it is your plan to strike the Hessians tonight 
at Trenton, with five co-operating divisions, com- 
manded severally by yourself, himself. Generals 
Ewing, Putnam and Griffin. Accordingly, he has dis- 
patched General Cadwalader to the river. 

WASHINGTON 

Well? 

HAMILTON 

General Cadwalader has looked at the river, 

WASHINGTON 

Has he!— Well? 

HAMILTON 

He considers the floating ice impassable — 

WASHINGTON 

Considers! — 

HAMILTON 

The chances desperate, and he is gone back to 
Bristol. 



182 WASHINGTON [Act 11 

WASHINGTON 

Gone back to Brimstonel Let him sit there and 
broil his rump! — What else? 

HAMILTON 

Another message from General Gates, by Captain 
Wilkinson. 

WASHINGTON 

We are twice favoured. — Well? 

HAMILTON 

General Gates himself has set out for Philadelphia, 
to inform Congress — 

WASHINGTON 

Inform Congress — what of? 

HAMILTON 
That he disapproves your plan, and cannot co- 
operate. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah! 

[After a pause. ^ 
What further messages? 

HAMILTON 

From General Putnam, at Philadelphia. 

WASHINGTON 

[Quickly.] 
What's Put say? 



Act II] WASHINGTON 183 

HAMILTON 

He regrets his division cannot march tonight. 

WASHINGTON 

[Slowly,^ 
Old Put says that.— Well! —Next? 

HAMILTON 

General Ewing regrets the ice, but will try whatever 
seems most practical — in the morning. 

WASHINGTON 
Try! He'd better try lard, and fry in his own fat! 
That's practical for com pone — ha! — in the morning! 
[Washington's features contract, and he 
gnaws fiercely the edge of his hand, before speak- 
ing again.] 
So: that makes three divisions time-stalled — use- 
less. 

[He glances slowly at Hamilton.] 
And the fourth — ? 

HAMILTON 

General Griffin sends word — 
[He pauses.] 

WASHINGTON 

What are his regrets? 



184 WASHINGTON [Act II 

HAMILTON 

He regrets his necessity to abandon New Jersey 
altogether. 

WASHINGTON 

[Lifting off his hat, raises it high aloft.] 
Jehovah, God of chariots! And this is the thunder 
of Thy captains! 

[Dashing his hat to the ground, he grinds his 
boot upon it.] 
Blithering skulkgudgeons! These are my fighting 
generals ! 

[An immense shudder wrenches his body. 
Controlling a sharp spasm, his face grows 
marble. Stooping, he takes up the crumpled hat 
and holds it in silence; then, slowly turning his 
look from the hat to Hamilton's face, he speaks 
with tense quiet.] 
Alexander: not a word of this! You understand? 

HAMILTON 

Not a word, your Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

Your report. Sir, is satisfactory. At midnight, our 
division will cross the Delaware — alone. 

HAMILTON 

[With quiet emotion.] 
Nay, Sir: not alone. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 185 

WASHINGTON 

I said — ours alone. What other forces are left to 
attend us? 

HAMILTON 

The Ages, your Excellency: the forces that prevail 
over river barriers: there, Sir, still flows — the Rubi- 
con. 

WASHINGTON 

[Hoarsely.] 
Nay, my boy — not so classic. The Delaware will 
do, for tonight. 'Tis no Caesar stands in my boots. 

[With smouldering fire, that dartles, flames 
and then bursts,] 
But 'tis Caesar, I reckon, who camps over there with 
his legions: a Caesar, hog-latin from Hanover, who 
would make the Atlantic his channel — who hires his 
own German breed to help suppress English freedom 
in both England and America, making his chancellors 
his apes and his commoners his minions. Fd rather 
you called me Hannibal-in-a-cocked-hat than such a 
Hessian Roman! 

HAMILTON 

I am well corrected. Sir. I cannot gainsay — ^the 
cocked hat. 

[With swift ardour, going near to him.] 

But oh, my dear General, I want you only to know 
my utter conviction of this night! 



186 WASHINGTON [Act II 

WASHINGTON 

[Looking at him — slowly.^ 
Your conviction, son? 

HAMILTON 

This night is the beginning of the world. — Darkness 
was over the face of the deep, and He said, "Let there 
be light!" 

WASHINGTON 
[Murmur sJ[ 
And there was light. 

HAMILTON 
And there was light! 

WASHINGTON 

Without form and void — and after that — flight and 
order. 

HAMILTON 

Order — and organic structure: a new world — a 
new-builded unity — a new self-government above war- 
ring tribes — a commonwealth above kings — and its 
name, America! 

WASHINGTON 

You are young — and you have seen it. 

HAMILTON 
[Ardently J\ 
I see it, Sirl 



Act II] WASHINGTON 187 

WASHINGTON 

I am getting old — but I too have seen it — darkly. 
Old eyes and young must work together, boy. Will 
finds its way. 

HAMILTON 

And the will is here. 

WASHINGTON 

Ah?— Where? 

HAMILTON 

[With a reverent smile.] 

Under that crumpled hat, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling back faintly — speaks, after a 
pause.] 
The boats are ready? 

HAMILTON 

On the face of the deep. 

WASHINGTON 

Over there — no crossing back. Over there — are 
the looted homes of freemen, and the German loot- 
ers — keeping the birth of Christ, there. Over that 
water, my boy, is our final stake: 'tis fight to a finish. 

HAMILTON 
And fight — for the beginning: our commonwealth 
above kings! 



188 WASHINGTON [Act II 

WASHINGTON 

In the beginning — there was a word spoken — a 
watchword — and the stars held their watch ever after. 

[From the distance, on the right, a single faint 
bugle-note is heard.] 

HAMILTON 

Sir, yes! Our watchword: the men are waiting 
for it. 

WASHINGTON 

[Mutters, looking off.] 
No stars yet tonight! 

HAMILTON 

[With fervour.] 
You will give it, Sir — you alone. I'll go tell them. 
This pad, Sir: write it on this; I'll return in a moment' 
ind get it. I beg of you. Sir, — the watchword! 

[Handing to Washington a little pad of 
paper, Hamilton goes swiftly off in the dark- 
ness, right. 

Left alone, Washington continues muttering 
to himself.] 

WASHINGTON 

Above warring tribes. Out of the void — a form. 
And there was light of stars — and order. Void, and 
then — victory! 



Act II] WASHINGTON 189 

[Slowly — his lips still murmuring — he begins 
to pace back and forth, his hands clutched behind 
him. 

While he does so, out of the night, a low, flute- 
like music plays softly the air of 'Raggle-taggle 
Gypsies,' 

As the melody ceases, Washington pauses {at 
the left) by the tree-bole, that forms there a col- 
umn for the arch-like opening of snow-crusted 
evergreens. 

From there — as he moves again slowly down 
to the log by the fire, and sits there, holding the 
little pad in his left hand — he is followed from 
behind by a dim-robed Figure in red, its face 
cowled in deep shadow, its arms crossed in large 
folds of its dark garment. 

Pausing for a moment behind him, where he 
sits, the Figure bends above him in the firelight. 

Reaching a shadowy arm, it touches with its 
right hand the right hand of Washington, poised 
with a pencil to write. 

At the touch, once more, faintly a bugle is 
heard, the hand of Washington writes, and the 
bugle-note dies away 05 the Figure steals silently 
back to the centre of the snowy arch. 

Washington does not move or speak; but now, 
from the right, low voices are heard and Ham- 
ilton reappears. Glimpsed with him for a mo- 
ment are the forms of Tom Paine and two or 



190 WASHINGTON [Act II 

three others in regimentals, who retire at a ges- 
ture from Hamilton. 

Approaching Washington, Hamilton is about 
to speak, but checks himself at the other^s intent 
posture of absorption — his open left hand hold- 
ing extended the little pad. 

Seeing this, Hamilton — drawing closer — 
glances at it in the firelight, and reads:} 

HAMILTON 

[Murmuring low.] 
Victory or death. 

[Then, swiftly in silence returning toward the 
dimness, right, he speaks in vibrant tone:] 
Victory or death! 

[As he disappears, the Voice of Tom Paine 
answers from farther off: '' Victory or death!" 

Still farther, then, in the distance, other Voices 
call faintly to each other: ''Victory or death!" 

These Voices have hardly ceased, when once 
more a far bugle is heard, 

Washington stirs slightly, clutching his hands 
before him. 

Now the bugle is answered by another, and in 
the arched middleground, the Dim-Red Figure 
in the Cowl quivers with deepening colour, 

Washington tightens the great joints of his 
hands, and breathes heavily. 



Act II] WASHINGTON 191 

And now, through the dark, increasingly, the 
upblowing notes of bugles begin to rise, like 
irises of sound. And as they rise, the grey 
of gust-blurred moonlight in the background 
clears to a pallid blue, which deepens and — fill- 
ing swiftly with stars — takes on a glowing inten- 
sity of azure. 

Against this sky of stars, impanelled by the 
' shadowy arch, the red of the cowled Figure 
looms and dilates with the sanguine richness of 
flame. 

And now the bugles — as many as the stars — 
magnify their blaring notes to a martial revelry 
of music, crashing the dark with their silver and 
brazen peals. 

Staring upward in the midst of this sound and 
the colour behind him, Washington starts to his 
feet in the foreground — both arms upraised in a 
gesture immense and terrible — his voice break- 
ing with sharp joy, as he cries hoarsely aloud:] 

WASHINGTON 

Victory! Lord God of battles — victory! 



END OF ACT II 



ACT III 
AND EPILOGUE 



ACT III 

TENTH ACTION 

The rise of the theatre curtain discovers the blue cur- 
tains closed at the centre. Behind them is heard 
a fiddle playing and the voice of Quilloquon 
singing. 

Immediately, as the blue curtains draw back half the 
width of the stage opening, a burst of gorgeous 
colour meets the eye. 

In a scene of shallow depth, the entire back wall con- 
sists of a resplendent painted canvas, in front of 
which, at the right, is a step-ladder. 

On this is standing a Young Man — clad in a long 
flowing robe of blue ^ worn over a British offi- 
cer s uniform. At either side of him, standing 
on boxes — are a Boy and a Girl, each holding 
a pot of paint. The young Man — slender, hand- 
some, dark — holds several brushes, with one of 
which he is busily putting final touches to the 
design on the canvas. 

At left and right, the scene is closed in by great folds 
of blue hanging curtains, on which — informally 

^ The design and colour of this robe are the same as 
the robe of The Theatre, in the Prelude. 

195 



196 WASHINGTON [Act III 

pinned — are drawings and paintings of scene- 
designs. 

in a great chair {right), over which is thrown a rich 
hued tapestry, sits a stout middle-aged Man, in 
the uniform of a British General, Near him, 
standing, is a tall Man, with fierce black beard, 
long moustachios, towering brass helmet and the 
uniform of a Hessian Officer. 

In the left background — in front of some tall deco- 
rated screens — stands the Fiddler (Quillo- 
quon), dressed in a strange bright-coloured 
smock, worn over his work clothes. 

The two Children are clad likewise, and — where they 
stand holding the paint-pots — join in the chorus 
of the ballad-song, to which Quilloquon partly 
fiddles — partly directs them with his bow — as he 
sings, 

Midway of the song's first stanza the curtains part, 

THE FIDDLER 

A fighter would a-fiddling go; 
Instead of his sword he carried a bow, 
All for to fiddle it high and low 
Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 

[Fiddler and Children] 
Jackie, boy! — Master! 
Sing ye well? — very well! 
Hey down, ho down, 
Derry, derry down! 
Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 



Act III] WASHINGTON 197 

To my Hey down, down! 
With my Ho down, down! 

Hey down, ho down, 

Derry, derry down! 
Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 

THE FIDDLER 

He fiddled all day until 'twas night, 
He fiddled all dark until 'twas light, 
All for to fiddle away the fight 
Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
[Fiddler and Children] 
Jackie, boy! — Master, 
Sing ye well? — very well! 
Hey down, ho down, 
Derry, derry down! 
Among the greenrooms gay, 0! 
[As the song concludes, the British Officer, 
slapping his thigh, exclaims loudly:] 

the BRITISH OFFICER 

Bravo, Master Scene-shifter! You sing well, with 
your Jackie-boy, and Jill, too. 

[To the Young Man on the ladder.] 
Where did you pick up this fellow? 

THE YOUNG MAN 

Oh, here in the theatre. General: a jack-of -all- 
trades. He helps me here in the scene-loft. 
[Pointing.] 

How do you like our new curtain, for the Old 
South? 



198 WASHINGTON [Act III 

THE BRITISH OFFICER 

Prodigious good! A touch of extravagance that 
takes me. Your brush is as gallant as your sword, 
Captain Andre. 

THE YOUNG MAN 

[Turns with a smile and slight bow,^ 
Sir William Howe does me honour. 

HOWE 

Devil a bit! I saw your new drop-scene at the last 
performance — that landscape and cascade. Hogarth 
himself couldn't beat it. And so this is the new cur- 
tain for tomorrow night? 

ANDRE 

Yes, General. 'Tis just finished. 

[Tossing his brushes to Quilloquon, he comes 
down the ladder, while Quilloquon and the 
Children go off through the curtains, right,] 

HOWE 
What's the play? 

ANDRE 

"Douglas." 

HOWE 

Who plays the title-part? 

ANDRE 

I do. Sir. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 199 

HOWE 

Well said, youngster! You'll provide my staff with 
Garrick and Sir Joshua combined. Who gives the 
Prologue? 

ANDRE 

I plead very guilty, Sir. I've wrote it. 

HOWE 

What — Oliver Goldsmith, too! Sure, Captain 
Andre, I must raise your rank to Major of Dramatics- 

ANDRE 

[With a laugh,] 
'Twould be only fitting, Sir William. You your- 
self, Sir, have converted the theatre of Mars to the 
temple of Melpomone. Thanks to you, Philadelphia 
is now the Athens of America. 

THE HESSIAN OFFICER 
[With a strong German accent.] 
Ya — so. Here is now goot vinter quarters: plendy 
of goot music and liquors. 

HOWE 

And sour-krout, Knyphausen! Better than Tren- 
ton, a year ago, eh? How about that serenade the 
Yankees gave you Hessians o' Christmas night, — ^ha? 
[Howe roars with laughter.] 



200 WASHINGTON [Act III 

KNYPHAUSEN 

De tamn Yankees dey eat deir own medicine now, 
General. You hear de last news from Valley Forge — 
ya? 

HOWE 

Eh?— What news? 

KNYPHAUSEN 

Meester Vashington he is now tie up his breeches 
mit wrapping strings. For why? — he is cut off his 
last button, to buy him a frozen potato. — Haha! 

HOWE 

Ha! Hath he? Well, well, poor old fox, he shall 
have a hot sirloin — when I catch him. He's a gentle- 
man and a sportsman — George Washington. Next 
spring — after I've frozen out his little rebellion — he 
and I shall go duck-shooting together. 'Tis jollier 
sport than this man-hunting. 

KNYPHAUSEN 
Sport! Ya — dere you are, you Anglo-Saxons! 
Always you play your var — by de pretty rules, like a 
game. 

HOWE 

A game — well, what the devil else is war? 

KNYPHAUSEN 

Var is business. Sir Villiam. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 201 

HOWE 

Business be damned! War is a great national 
sport, Sir. Learn the rules and play according. 

KNYPHAUSEN 

Rules? Beat your enemy: dat is all de rules. 
But see here your var business! Here is not in all 
America vone town vere you tax de habitants. My 
men — dey must pay de farmers for deir chickens mit 
cash, and say dem "tank you" besides. Potzhimmel! 
Vat for a var! 

HOWE 

[Rising.] 
Knyphausen, I'm captain of this cricket match. 
When the boys in your country learn bat-and-ball, 
they'll learn to understand British soldiers: aye, Sir, 
and American. — Now, Andre, I clean forgot: I must 
be off. 

ANDRE 

So soon. General? 

HOWE 

I've lost my dog. God above. Sir, Jack! my best 
hound — I've lost him. Took first prize at the show. 
I wouldn't swap him for a battalion. I must set the 
town in search. 

[Taking out and handing a paper.] 

Here, Knyphausen, you have legs — hurry ahead of 
me to Headquarters. This paper gives his full inven- 



202 WASHINGTON [Aci III 

tory. — Superb foxhound — good old Jack! Aye, Sir, 
— a dozen battalions! 



KNYPHAUSEN 

[Taking the paper, ^ 
For vone dog! 

[Scowling with savage disdain.] 
Gotteswillen! — Vat for a var! 

[As he is about to stride out through the cur- 
tains, left, two young Women appear there — one 
in a bright-coloured gown, the other dressed in 
grey like a Quaker. Seeing the Hessian, they 
start aside — the first suppressing a scream, as 
Knyphausen, bowing fiercely, brushes rudely 
past and goes out, muttering:] 
Pardon, Mesdames! 

THE FIRST YOUNG WOMAN 

— Captain Andre! 

ANDRE 

Mistress Polly,- — ladies! 

POLLY 

[Looking after Knyphausen.] 
Why is one of those here? 

HOWE 

[Bursting out.] 
God knows, Madam! His Majesty hired 'em, not 



Act III] WASHINGTON 203 

me. Manners of mud-turtles! That one is a colonel, 
but he butters his bread with his thumb. — Pray intro- 
duce me, Captain. 

ANDRE 

Sir William — I present you to Mistress Polly Red- 
mond, and — 

POLLY 

And my friend, — Captain, — Mistress Betsy Ross: 
both loyal rebels, Sir William ! 

HOWE 

[Bowing, as they both curtsy.] 
I bow to your conquest, fair enemies! 

POLLY 

Oh, but Captain, I've only a minute. I've run in 
to give you my answer. 

ANDRE 

Ah! So you will sing for us tomorrow night — be- 
fore my Prologue? 

POLLY 

All my repertoire! 

ANDRE 

I am overwhelmed. 

POLLY 

You will be — when you hear me! 



204 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[Handing a pap 
Look at my numbers. 



[Handing a paper. ~\ ^J 



ANDRE 

[Reads.] 
'War and Washington'; 'Cooped up in a Town!' 
'Burgoyne's Defeat' — 

[Bursting into gay laughter.] 
Aha, Sir William — you hear? Reserve your box 
early! 'Twill be a royal benefit — for rebels! 

HOWE 
[Joining his laughter.] 
Standing room only, I'll wager! Put me down for 
two boxes — 

[With another bow.] 
if Mistress Betsy will be there to join the rebellion. 

BETSY 

I thank thee, Sir: but 'tis the privilege of a Friend 
to be neutral. I attend not the playhouse. 

HOWE 
Neutral? Never with those eyes, fair Mistress! 
Nay, under that grey cloak of a Friend, I warrant 
you'll draw forth a shining blade for Washington! 

BETSY 

Only a needle. Sir. Polly sings for her country: 
I can only sew. 

[Under her cloak is visible a cloth bundle, 



Act III] WASHINGTON 205 

with needle and thread — through the wrapping 
of which is glimpsed a gleam of red, white and 
blue.] 

HOWE 

[Glancing.] 
What's here? 

[In confusion Betsy covers the bundle, as 
Polly steps between her and Howe.] 

POLLY 

[Saucily.] 
Shirts — for Valley Forge soldiers, Sir. Confiscate 
'em — for his Majesty! 

HOWE 

Ah — unneutral needle ! 
[Pressing his heart.] 

Already, Mistress Betsy, thou hast stabbed me mor- 
tally — here. I must fly for help — to Headquarters. 
[Going.] 

Captain, reserve me my box. Recover my lost 
heart — and my dog. Dear old Jack! Damn Hes- 
sians! Splendid hound! Ladies, your most de- 
voted! Ah — bye the bye! I pray you will all dine 
with me shortly — to meet the Marquis of Lafayette 
and General Washington. I'm expecting 'em soon — 
by pressing invitation. Long live Washington — 
under my roof! God save the king — and my good 
old Jack! Worth twenty battalions — that dog! 



206 WASHINGTON [Act III 

^Limping off on his cane, Howe disappears 
through the curtains.] 

POLLY 
Funny old dragon! 
[To Andre.] 
We must be going, too! 

ANDRE 

Nay, charmer of dragons: stay one moment. 

[As she waves good-bye to him,] 
Not if I show you a secret? 

POLLY 

[Hesitating.] 
Secret? 

ANDRE 

A grand state secret. — Behind those screens! 

POLLY 
Oh! — Stop, Betsy. — 'Tis fate! We are — spies! 

[Returning, curious.] 
I've always felt I should hang for a state secret. 

ANDRE 

So have I, Mistress Polly! Resist not fate! 

POLLY 
[Awesomely.] 
Must I swear not to tell? 



Act III] WASHINGTON 207 

ANDRE 

You must swear to tell all Philadelphia — except Sir 
William. 

POLLY 

[Raising her right hand.] 
Swear, Betsy! 

ANDRE 

Look! 

[He puts aside the screens, revealing behind 
them a gorgeous array of dresses, costumes and 
dyed cloths, hanging over standards.] 

POLLY 

tempter of Eve! — What are those? 

ANDRE 

[ Taking forth some of the costumes and drap- 
ing them over the step-ladder.] 
For my Mischianza! 

POLLY 

Miss — what? 

ANDRE 

My pageant — the first in America: a medley of 
masques and music and dances! 'Tis for next spring 
— in honour of Sir William. Philadelphia shall go 
arrayed like Tyre and Sidon. 



208 WASHINGTON [Act III 

BETSY 
[With grave feeling,^ 
While our patriot army goes naked. — Polly, come 
away ! 

ANDRE 

[Showing a robe of white silk, with spangled 
pink sash.] 
Look! This Polonaise — for a Lady of the Blended 
Rose. 

POLLY 

[Snatching it from him.'\ 

rapture! 

ANDRE 

'Tis for you. Mistress Polly. Picture yourself in 
a veil of silver lace, with this headdress of pearls! 
[Showing another robe, with black sash.] 

And this — for a Lady of the Burning Mountain: — 
for your friend, if she will deign to wear it. 

BETSY 

1 will die before wearing it. 

POLLY 
[Pressing the robe to her heart.] 
I will die — after! Captain, array me in this robe: 
shoot me at sunrise, and bury me in a crystal casket — 
at the feet of my hero, Washington! 



Act III] WASHINGTON 209 

BETSY 

Polly, thou art gone daft with thy theatre crazes. 
Living or dead, let us be clothed in our duty. 

ANDRE 

'Living or dead, let me but be renowned!' — That's 
a line I speak tomorrow night, in my part of Douglas, 
Ah, dutiful Mistress Ross, do not scorn too much our 
theatre's art. My duty is soldiering; yours — 'tis sew- 
ing. Yet it may be that your life-task and mine to- 
day — all our hearts' devotion to peace or war — shall 
survive tomorrow only in a player's part — or the 
refrain of a song. 

BETSY 

Duty, Sir, thinks not of survival. 

POLLY 

But beauty longs for it, Betsy. Remember our 
Washington, even at Valley Forge, hath a theatre — 
for our starving patriots. They lack for clothes and 
bread — but not for players. 

BETSY 

[Murmurs.] 
Valley Forge! 

ANDRE 

The art we share should heal our enmities. I pray 
it will. 

[Dreamily, from nearby, strings of a dulcimer 
begin to play — a melody pensive and minor. 



210 WASHINGTON [Act III 

Betsy, clutching tighter her wrapped bundle, 
stands gazing — her eyes fixed far off.] 

BETSY 

[Murmurs again,] 
Valley Forge! 

[And now, to the dulcimer, the Voice of QuiL- 
LOQUON is heard singing.] 

THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 

She leaned herself against a thorn. 

All alone and aloney. 
And there her firstling sons were bom, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey. 

[Polly looks questioning toward Andre, who 
answers her look quietly.] 

ANDRE 

An old ballad. 

THE VOICE of QUILLOQUON 

[Sings on.] 

She pulled down her dark, dark hair, 

All alone and aloney, 
And bound it round their limbs so bare, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey. 

She pulled out her snow-white breast, 

All alone and aloney, 
And bid them suck — 'twould be her last, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 211 

BETSY 

[Murmur s,} 
The cold hill side. 

[She turns toward the curtained entrance, 
Andre speaks to her,] 

ANDRE 

Pray, Mistress, wait! We are enemies — only in 
prose. In the heart of song, my England is yours, 
your America — mine. May we not be friends? 

BETSY 

To be a Friend, Sir, is my faith. Yet there are 
times when friendship must be fought for. — Polly, 
— come ! 

[She goes swiftly out, left, Polly is follow- 
ing,] 

ANDRE 

And you — ? 

POLLY 

[Pausing at the entrance, hands the pearl 
headdress to Andre.] 
Dear Captain, fate may make us spies — ^but never 
traitors. 

ANDRE 

[Snatches her hand, kissing it,] 
Lady of fate! 

[Restraining an impetuous gesture, PoLLY 
hurries out. 



212 WASHINGTON [Act III 

Left alone, Andre turns slowly back. The 
dulcimer is still playing. Looking at the pearls 
in his hand, Andre murmurs low:] 
Spies — but never traitors. 

{Eighth Transition) 

[Through the curtains, right, Quilloquon en- 
ters with the Children. As they approach, their 
forms and the figure of Andre melt into greyish 
darkness, while their voices are singing.] 

THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 

If God were here, children mine, 

All alone and aloney, 
He'd wrap you in the warm wool fine, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey, 

(The Children) 
O Mother dear, whose eyes are there, 

All alone and aloney, 
A-shining through your dark, dark hair, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey? 

(Quilloquon) 
If God it were, children mine. 

All alone and aloney. 
He'd warm your hearts with His red wine, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 213 

(The Children) 
Mother dear, His milk is best, 

All alone and aloney, 
That warms us from your snow-white breast, 

Down by the cold hill-sidey. 



ELEVENTH ACTION 

A flurry of grey light breaks the dark in the right 
middleground. 

Vaguely it reveals the interior of a large tent, on the 
left divided by the rough stone back of a fire- 
place — with tile chimney piercing the sloped 
cloth roofing — into a shallow and a deep recess, 
the latter leading beyond sight in the background. 

With the flurry of light, a swirling sound of sleigh 
bells bursts also through the opening flap of an 
incurved entrance, the canvas portico of which 
is just visible outside. 

In a gust of grey-white sleet, huddled Figures are seen 
entering in a group that partly surrounds a low 
sledge, piled luith ice-crusted fire-wood. Har- 
nessed to the sledge, ragged, storm-drenched Men 
drag in the load a few feet and pause. Through 
the low jingle of the harness' bells, the voice of 
Hamilton is heard speaking. 



214 WASHINGTON [Act III 

HAMILTON 

Yes, this is General Washington's tent. Stack the 
wood over yonder. The provisions beyond there. — • 
Thank you. 

[Other Soldiers enter — Men young, middle- 
aged and old. Some are almost naked. Some 
wear old dressing gowns and blankets strapped 
to their waists. On the backs of two or three, 
loaded provisions are tied. W ilh them enter 
Hamilton and Paine, also clad forlornly. 

Closing the tent-flap, Billy, the black servant 
— his scarlet-and-white livery now faded dun and 
bedraggled — stands at attention. 

In silence, save for the faint tinkling, the 
sledge is drawn across beyond view into the 
deeper recess, from which flickering shadows of 
the Men are cast by the fire, as they gather about 
it, unloading and stacking the wood and provi- 
sions beyond, with low rumbling noise and occa- 
sional murmur of voices. 

Meanwhile, crossing the shallower recess, 
Hamilton opens there the shutter-blinds of a 
window beside a table, letting in a stormy light, 
as he turns to his companion, and speaks.^ 

Those harnesses, Mr. Paine, are made of grape- 
vines. Our horses are mostly dead, so we contrive 
substitutes — with bells, for horse-play. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 215 

PAINE 

'Tis our nature. Colonel. Man is your only volun- 
teer pack-horse. To attain liberty he will harness the 
lightning or his own legs. Aye, Sir, to develop our 
divinity, we are the only demi-gods that dwell in the 
temples of ground-hogs. 

HAMILTON 

Ground-hogs? 

PAINE 

Valley Forge soldiers, Sir. This camp is the 
acropolis of such vermin. Holes in a frozen hillside 
— from these burrowed altars we crawl out to view our 
shadows in the sun, and bear the griping arrows of 
Phoebus Apollo. 

HAMILTON 

And the malice of our dear friends. General 
Washington bears the brunt of that. 

PAINE 

What! Is the gossip true? Hath Gates really 
plotted — ? 

HAMILTON 

Every back-door tattle-way. His capture of Bur- 
goyne's army at Saratoga hath puffed his head like 
an adder's. 

PAINE 

Gates captured what Washington planned. That's 
too easy. 



216 WASHINGTON [Act III 

HAMILTON 

Not for Gates. He plots to obtain the chief com- 
mand now himself. 

PAINE 
And Congress listens? 

HAMILTON 

Behind their hands — so. 'Tis a cabal— a monster: 
jealousy, petty hate, false gossip — beyond belief. 
They use an upstart named Conway. They set loose 
lies — like hornets. The plan is to sting Washington 
till he resigns. They know they dare not remove him; 
if they tried, all America would rise and hang 'em on 
Liberty belfry. So they sting him in the dark. 

PAINE 

Him — their one hope ! Are they mad? 

HAMILTON 

Yes, with envy of his power — the power of patience. 
Their latest attempt is to draw LaFayette in their net. 
You know, when he came from France last summer to 
fight with us, how quickly the General took the young 
Marquis to his heart. This rankles with Gates and 
his party. If they can win LaFayette, they think to 
win their cabal. 

PAINE 

And will thev win him? 



Act III] WASHINGTON 217 

HAMILTON 

When they win heaven's gate and unhinge it — not 
before. Young LaFayette is the heart of France — 
and that is incorruptible. 



THE VOICE OF WASHINGTON 

[Calls low and vibrant.] 
Hamilton! 

[Hamilton starts. 

Through the tent- flap, in another gust of sleet, 
Washington enters — his cloak wrapped round a 
human form, which he bears in his arms, the head 
and one stiff naked arm drooping limp. 

Glancing quickly about, Washington speaks 
again, staccato.] 
Brandy! 

[Hamilton reaches for a flask on the table. 

Bending over in the background, Washington 

lays his burden on the floor, near the centre, 

stoops down in front of it, partly unwrapping the 

cloak, and motions to the Men by the fireplace:] 

Make room there. 

[ The Men draw apart from the fire, and move 
forward — peering, a bit listlessly.] 

HAMILTON 

[Hurrying quietly with the flask,] 
Here, Sir. Is he hurt? 



218 WASHINGTON [Act III 

WASHINGTON 

Frozen. — Found him in a snow-drift. 

[Taking the flask, he bends with it to the limp 
body, half concealed now by the standing forms 
of Hamilton, Paine, and others gathered 
around,] 

PAINE 

[In a low voice.] 
Can we help, General? 

WASHINGTON 

No. 

[For a moment, the Men stand silent, watching, 
till Washington glances up and speaks again,] 
How far off is the doctor? 

A TATTERED MAN 

[Stepping forward.] 
I'm a doctor in my home town, Sir. 

WASHINGTON 
[With a gesture.] 
What's your verdict? Is he gone? 

the MAN 
[Stooping down, after a little, rises again.] 
Gone, Sir. 

[The Men draw away, as Washington rises, 
and mutter together as they move off,] 



Act III] WASHINGTON 219 

ONE MAN 

Oh, — just another! 

A SECOND MAN 

I knew him. He was a sergeant — had a young wife 
and three young 'uns. 

[Going slowly to the table, Washington sets 
down the flask; Hamilton stands near,] 

WASHINGTON 

[Quietly.] 
They die — like crickets in autumn. 

[Glancing at a paper on the table, lifts it and 
reads:] 
'Unfit for service, by cause of nakedness — 3989.' 

[Glancing at Hamilton.] 
That's today's report? 

HAMILTON 

Today's, your Excellency. 
[ They confer together. 

Coming out of the deeper recess with jingle of 
sleigh-bells, the Men in harness drag the sledge 
toward the entrance, right, followed by the 
others, talking low.] 

ONE MAN 

Same last night. My soup was full o' burnt leaves. 
What did you get? 



220 WASHINGTON [Act III 

ANOTHER 

Fire-cake and water! The Lord send our Commis- 
sary may live on't too, till their glutted guts turn to 
pasteboard. 

A THIRD 

Smoke, lice and vomit — that's my upkeep. 

PAINE 

[To the Group. 1^ 
Want to chuck the game, and go home, boys? 

THE THIRD MAN 

[Pointing at Washington.] 
Not while he there sticks! 

THE SECOND MAN 

[To Paine.] 
You'd never ask us that, if you had read Common- 
sense and The Crisis. 

THE FIRST MAN 

[Nudging the second. '\ 
Him read 'em! — He wrote 'em! 

[They stare after Paine, where he moves off 
with a smile.l^ 

WASHINGTON 

[Coming over to the sledge, halts those who 
drag it, pointing to the dead man.] 
Take him with you. He's done walking. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 221 

[^Several Men turn to the body. 
As they lift it on the sledge, Washington 
speaks to the tattered Doctor.] 
Find the chaplain. 

[Glancing toward the body,] 
See him fitly buried. Keep the cloak for yourself 
— 'twas mine* 

THE DOCTOR 

Oh, Sir — thanks. 

THE SECOND MAN 

General, we'll all on us go sled-ridin' — to serve you, 

THE THIRD MAN 

Kingdom-come, but no quittin'. Sir! Sleigh-bells 
for church-bells — and no sexton nuther. 

SEVERAL VOICES 

Aye, General! 

WASHINGTON 

We're all one team, lads. 

[Lifting his hat momentarily above the sledge, 
while those who have hats remove theirs also.] 
A good journey — and rest — to our comrade! 

[With devoted looks toward Washington — 
while those in front drag the sledge with the 
body — all the Soldiers go out, bending their 
heads to the snowy gust that beats through the 



222 WASHINGTON^ [Act III 

opened tent flap, which the darky closes after 
them.] 

PAINE 

[Buttoning his coat, salutes Washington.] 
I'll see them a bit on their way, General. 

WASHINGTON 

[Noticing him for the first time, grasps his 
hand warmly.] 
Ah, Tom Paine ! Your writings have larned 'em to 
think, Sir. You're worth a dozen commissariats for 
you larder their souls. 

PAINE 
Thought is in the air, Sir; I merely distil it. I'm a 
moonshiner. 

WASHINGTON 

And your moonshining has warmed my army with 
the fire-water of dreams. A fighter without dreams 
is no soldier; he's a machine. Machines break down 
in snow-storms — but not soldiers. Bellies cave in — 
but not courage; eyes go blind — but not vision. 
Young man, you have clarified our country's cause 
for its defenders. Liberty is your debtor. God bless 
you! 

PAINE 
He does. Sir. — You are my friend. 
[Bowing swiftly, he hurries out. 
Following him, Billy closes the tent flap from 



Act III] WASHINGTON 223 

outside. Pensively, Washington crosses to the 
table, where Hamilton sits writing by a pile of 
documents, Hamilton starts to rise, but sits 
again, at a gesture from the other, and continues 
to write in silence. 

On the table, Washington's hand touches a 
flute. He takes it up and stands holding it. 
Staring out of the mist-blurred window, absently 
he draws lines on a pane with the end of the flute. 
The lines take on roughly the outline of a tree. 
Slowly he lifts the flute to his lips, and blows 
on it faintly three notes 



ky lifrNJ I I 



Hamilton glances up. 

Gathering some documents, he rises and 
speaks, hesitatingly.] 

HAMILTON 

Where do you wish these papers filed, Sir? 

WASHINGTON 

[Half aloud — still staring at the window 
pane,] 
Under the sycamore. 

HAMILTON 

I beg pardon? 



224 WASHINGTON [Act III 

WASHINGTON , 

[With a deep-caught breath — dropping the i 
flute on the table,] 

Ah! — those papers — 

[Glancing,] 
The cabal matter? 

HAMILTON 

Yes, your Excellency. 

WASHINGTON 

Destroy them. — Did you write to my farm man- 
ager? 

HAMILTON 

About draining the swamp, Sir. Yes. 

WASHINGTON 

Good. 

HAMILTON 

[Lifting another paper,] 
This interrupted letter from Conway to General 
Gates? 

WASHINGTON 

[Taking the letter, glances at it,] 
Sit down. 

[Hamilton sits again, and writes, as Wash- 
ington — pacing slowly back and forth — speaks, 
with deliberation.] 
You may take this dictation: 



Act III] WASHINGTON 225 

'To General Conway, etc. 
'Sir: 

'A letter which I received last night contained the 
following paragraph: — "In a letter from Gene^-al Con- 
way to General Gates, he says. Heaven has deter- 
mined to save your country, or a weak general and 
bad counsellors would have ruined it," 

'I am. Sir, your humble servant' 

Here: I'll sign it. 

[He bends over and signs.] 
I think that will spring their man trap — and bark 
their own shins, if they wriggle. 

HAMILTON 

This letter to yourself from the lat chaplain of 
Congress — 

WASHINGTON 

Read it. 

[Taking up a long-stemmed clay pipe, Wash- 
ington fills and lights it at the fire, as he listens,] 

HAMILTON 

[Reads.] 
'Your cities fall, one after another; fortress after 
fortress, battle after battle, is lost. The enemy's 
army have possessed themselves of the Capital of 
America. How unequal the contest! How fruitless 
the expense of blood! Under so many discouraging 



226 WASHINGTON [Act III 

circumstances, can virtue, can honour, can the love of 
your country, prompt you to proceed?' 

WASHINGTON 
Love of my country? — That's prime! 

[Reaching for the first sheet of the letter, 
which Hamilton has laid down, Washington 
crumples it, ignites it at the fire and re-lights his 
pipe with it,] 

HAMILTON 

[After glancing with a faint smile, continues 
reading,] 
'Humanity itself calls upon you to desist. Your 
army must perish for want of common necessaries, or 
thousands of innocent families must perish to support 
them. Wherever they march, the troops of the enemy 
will pursue, and complete the destruction which 
America herself has begun.' 

WASHINGTON 

[With a grim twist of his face.] 
America begun! 

[He sits at the table, opposite Hamilton but 
facing sideways, looking into the bowl of his 
pipe.] 

HAMILTON 

[Reads.] 
'Perhaps it may be said 'tis better to die, than to be 



Act III] WASHINGTON 227 

made slaves. This indeed is a splendid maxim in 
tlieory — ' 

WASHINGTON 

[Grunts deep,] 
Ah! 

HAMILTON 

[Reads.] 
'Perhaps — experimentally true. But when there 
might be a happy accommodation — ' 

WASHINGTON 
Ah—? 

HAMILTON 

[Reads,] 
'Sir, 'tis to you alone your bleeding country looks.' 

WASHINGTON 

[Snorts low,] 
Me! 

HAMILTON 

[Reads,] 
*Your penetrating eye will discern my meaning.' 

WASHINGTON 

[Glancing round,] 
It does. 

HAMILTON 

[Reads,] 
*With your own prudence and delicacy, recom- 
mend. Sir, to Congress the immediate cessation of 



228 WASHINGTON [Act III 

hostilities; represent the necessity of rescinding the 
hasty and ill-advised Declaration of Independence — ' 

WASHINGTON 

[Striking his closed fist, with the pipe, on the 
table, shattering the pipe,] 
Wait! 

[Quietly.] 
Don't waste that paper. 

[Taking from Hamilton the remaining sheets 
of the letter, he tears them in two and hands 
them back.] 
It makes good tinder. 
[He rises.] 

HAMILTON 

[Rising also, speaks after a pause.] 
To grow a new world — takes weeding. 

WASHINGTON 

Aye, Alec, — and wabbling weathercocks! 

Too hot, too cold, too raw, too roast — 
'tis our human barometer. 

HAMILTON 

But our commonwealth above kings, Sir — 

WASHINGTON 

Will never be built above men. We must build 
with what we are, boy. After all — we have no bettcx. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 229 

[Billy enters — making passage for two Men, 
in long cloaks, who pause near the entrance,!^ 

BILLY 

[Coming forward.] 
Marse Ex'lency — 

WASHINGTON 

Ah, Billy? 

BILLY 

De Count Pulaski, an' de Baron von Steuben. 

WASHINGTON 

[Turning toward them,] 
Welcome, gentlemen! 

STEUBEN 

[Saluting with precision, hands a document 
and speaks with German accent,] 
My report, Excellency! 

[Washington takes it.] 
I come for vone only minute. 

PULASKI 

[ With a courtly bow, speaks with the accent of 
a Pole.] 
And also I, General — to inquire of my commission. 

WASHINGTON 

Congress hath granted it, Count. 'Tis here. 



230 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[Taking from his pocket a paper, he hands it.] 
You will recruit the Pulaski Legion of Cavalry. 
[Taking from beside the fireplace a folded 
standard. ] 
This banner the Moravian nuns of Bethlehem have 
made for you. They send it with their love and rev- 
erence. — Pray accept my hand, Sir. It gives you the 
grip of a brother freeman — America to Poland. 

PULASKI 

[As they clasp hands.] 
Poland to America: for free men — victory! 

[Taking the banner he bows again and — 
joined by Hamilton — goes toward the entrance, 
where he converses a moment, before he goes 
out.] 

WASHINGTON 

[To Steuben.] 
Well, Baron: and how do my men progress with 
your training? 

STEUBEN 

Ach! Potzteufel! Sacre de gaucherie of des 
badauds! I can curse dem no more. 

WASHINGTON 

[With a flitting smile.] 
You find them different from your Prussians. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 231 

STEUBEN 

Different? — Parbleu! In Prussia, a soldier he is 
bom mit his mouth shut. But here — vat you tink? 
Ven I tell dem orders, dey ask me of mine reasons: 
J a, — reasons, mein Gott! And I must answer dem, 
too! 

WASHINGTON 

[With a short laugh.l^ 
A troublesome habit, Baron. Our American coat- 
of-arms is a question-mark. 

STEUBEN 

[With a shrug of bewilderment,] 
'Tis de vonder of Europe, General, how you is 
compel dese fellows to fight for vou. 

WASHINGTON 

I don't compel 'em, Sir: I can't prevent 'em. They 
fight — for reasons. 

STEUBEN 

Bien! My King of Prussia — de great Friedrich 
— he is declare your campaign of Trenton de greatest 
in dis century. And mit dese damn fools! — Mon 
Dieu, c'est genie! 

WASHINGTON 

King Frederick is gracious. But I am grateful to 
you. Baron, for bringing your superior discipline to 
our green army. We Americans hate wars — but we 



232 WASHINGTON [Act III 

win 'em. So we welcome your Prussian drill — with- 
out Prussian will. 

STEUBEN 

De vill — how is dat? 

WASHINGTON 

The will of kings, Sir. Your own king has wrote 
of it very frankly. ' 'Tis the maxim of kingcraft,' 
he says, 'to despoil our neighbours, for that takes 
away their means of doing us injury. So we kings 
must take when we can, and we are never wrong — 
unless we have to give back what we have taken.' 
That, Sir, is the will which the will of America is 
fighting. 

BILLY 

[JVho has returned, comes forward with bub- 
bling excitement.] 
Beggin' yo' pardon, Marse Ex'lency — 

WASHINGTON 

What is it? 

BILLY 

Dey's a prisoner at de do', Sir. 

WASHINGTON 

[Turning to Hamilton.] 
Prisoner! Have him brought in. 

[Hamilton goes with Billy to the entrance 



Act III] WASHINGTON 233 

where Billy speaks outside, with pompous im- 
portance.] 

BILLY 

Admit de prisoner! 

[A ragged Soldier enters, leading a dog,^ 

WASHINGTON 

[Staring,] 
What's this — a fox-hound? 

THE SOLDIER 

Red-coat, I guess, General. Fm a sentry. I cap- 
tured him on the road to Philadelphia. 

WASHINGTON 

Captured him! 

THE SOLDIER 

[Grinning.] 
Aye, Sir. He's a British officer — by his collar 
mark. 

WASHINGTON 

[Patting the dog, reads from the collar.] 
General Sir William Howe: Headquarters.' 

[Bursts into laughter, with the others — except 
Steuben, who looks on astonished.] 
Ha, my man! What prize-money are you claiming 
for this haul? 



234 WASHINGTON [Act III 

THE SOLDIER 

Wall, General: ten thousand continental dollars — 
or a swig o' rum. 

WASHINGTON 

Pass him the flask, Billy. 

[Pulling out a flask for The Soldier, Billy 
retires with him, choking back a fit of laughter. 
Washington — squatting down, fondles the 
dog in his arms.] 
Well, well, good old Sir William: you mind me of 
my old Mopsey, bless your heart! What you doin' 
in Valley Forge? Got cold feet, eh, General? Come 
over to the enemy? Good, Sir! 
[To Hamilton.] 
Alexander, fetch out the potted calf! Escort his 
Excellency to the chimney, and give him house warm- 
ing. 

[As Washington rises, a clear-ringing voice 
is heard calling outside.] 

the voice 
General! General! — Mon General! 

WASHINGTON 

[His face lighting with affection.] 
Ha! Here's my French boy! 

[Dashing through the entrance, a boyish 
Young Man, in draggled uniform, flings his 



Act III] WASHINGTON 235 

snow-covered cloak on the floor, and rushes to 
Washington, embracing him.] 

THE YOUNG MAN 

[Speaks swiftly, with a French accent,] 
My dear General, the news — you have heard them? 

WASHINGTON 

What news? 

THE YOUNG MAN 
The post from France 'tis arrived ! They have tell 
me at the office. You have receive dispatches — ^no? 

WASHINGTON 

No: not yet. [To Hamilton.] 

Alexander, step over to the office and inquire. 

[Hamilton throws on his cloak and goes to- 
ward the door, giving over the dog to Billy, 
who leads it into the deeper recess beyond sight. 

Steuben, about to follow, pauses as he is 
passing The Young Man.] 

STEUBEN 

[With military salute.] 
General de LaFayette! 

LAFAYETTE 

[Bowing graciously,] 
Bon jour, Baron! 



236 WASHINGTON [Act III 

STEUBEN 

[To Hamilton.] 
Colonel, vait: I go mit you. 

[At the door.] 
Dese dogs and Frenchmen — parbleu! — dey are 
great in favour. 

[With a laughing grimace.] 
Potzteufel! 

[He goes out with Hamilton.] 

WASHINGTON 

[To LaFayette with solicitude — observing a 
slight limp in his walk.] 
The leg still hurts — your wound at Brandy wine? 

LAFAYETTE 

No, no — a nothing: quite healed. — 'Tis the post, 
my General: I feel it prick in my blood: you shall 
today hear from Paris — from Dr. Franklin. He shall 
write you of the Alliance — France with America — 
consummate! Ah, my friend — I will then die of joy. 
Mon ami! Plus que mon frere — mon pere! 

[Impetuously, he seizes Washington's hand 
and kisses it.] 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling, draws him toward the table, where 
they sit.] 
Nay, little Marquis: you have not disobeyed your 



Act III] WASHINGTON 237 

government, defied your relatives, and crossed the 
world to fight for liberty — just to die of joy. What 
would your young wife say to that? 

LAFAYETTE 

[With pensive change.} 
Oui — my wife: that was the most hard — to part 
with her — and my little Henriette. 
[Animated again.] 
My General, you must behold her — Henriette! At 
nine months she is already grande dame and petite 
coquette: a fieur de lis, a wild dove, a humming-bird 
— the gesture of roses, a lisping of philosophy- — in 
lavender 1 

WASHINGTON 

I am her slave already. 

LAFAYETTE 
When you meet, you will be her disciple — like me: 
she is so wise — so beautiful — so young! 

WASHINGTON 

[Taking LaFayette's hands in both his, 
smiles in his face wistfully.] 
So young — so wise! You, my lad, you almost 
make we wise and young again. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Wonderingly.] 
Me, my friend, — you! 



238 WASHINGTON [Act III 

WASHINGION 

[Deeply,^ 
A wind in March blows away dead leaves and rub- 
bish. It bares old trails to the sun again. Your 
coming, boy, hath been like that for me: green hills 
again — new sap in old woods — and the big wind of 
being young. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Eagerly, '\ 
I know — I feel: 'Tis not me: 'tis the wind, big 
with the new world to be bom. 

WASHINGTON 

[With a grave smile,^ 
Ah? He said that too, — my other son! We must 
christen that new world — together. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Leaping up.^ 
Mais, oui! But those men — in the Congress — 
these cabaleurs, men stupid, bad, ridiculous — ha! 
They think they shall lead me off from your side. 
This Conway — fool preposterous! This General 
Gates! Let them know I am a good shepherd-dog of 
freedom, and you — my only master. Whistle for 
me only: I lie down at your feet. 

[Swiftly kneeling beside Washington where 
he sits, he lays his head against his knees,] 



Act III] WASHINGTON 239 

WASHINGTON 

[Rising with him,] 
Please — dear Marquis: don't worry yourself. 
Duty breeds enemies. In doing mine, I have made 
many — these men in particular. 

LAFAYETTE 
[Pacing back and forth, gesticulating.] 
Them — yes, they know my frailness — glory: I 
adore it — glory! So me they commission Major-Gen- 
eral — send me to conquer Canada. I go; I arrive 
Albany — Veni, vidi, ha! non vici! No men — no 
stores — no money! Expedition — what you say? — a 
la wild goose: un fiasco! Voila! And all for why? 
For to call me away thousand miles from you, my 
commander. 

[Fiercely.] 
Them! I say to them — Peste! 

WASHINGTON 
I hope you didn't say so. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Brightening to a gay smile.] 
Say so — me! My General, I am a Frenchman. 
When I met them, I was for them at dinner the guest 
of honour. What I did say? "Gentlemen," I say, 
"I propose you a toast: the health of one only we all 
have delight to honour — our Commander-in-chief, 
Washington!" 



240 WASHINGTON [Act III 

WASHINGTON 
[With a sudden guffaw.] 
And they drank that toast? 

LAFAYETTE 
[Rippling with laughter,] 
In their wind-bags! There was much coughing in 
the wine. 

WASHINGTON 

I'll warrant! 

LAFAYETTE 

And these — are patriots! Ha! When I was in 
France, I say to my thoughts — America : land of souls 
pure! There every man he loves not himself — but 
only his cause, liberty; only his country, mankind! 
Then I come to America, and I meet — some patriots! 

WASHINGTON 

Gold ore is not gold, Marquis. Yet there be thou- 
sands of hearts in America — pure gold. 

LAFAYETTE 
[Quickly.] 
Yes, yes — ten thousands! I know it! 

WASHINGTON 

So let us forget the slag; yes, even your glory, boy! 
As Cato says in the play: 

'The post of honour is a private station.' 



Act III] WASHINGTON 241 

After the war — come with me to Mt. Vernon. I'll 
show you there — better than glory — peace. 

LAFAYETTE 

Me in your home! 

[Snatching his hand again,^ 
My friend — you will not laugh? I see, like in a 
dream — myself an ancestor. I see them — my little 
Henriette her grandchildren — they are celebrating 
your name, in worship; they are boasting to others: 
"We LaFayettes — one of our forefathers — he was 
friend to Washington!" — Oui, mon ami, that shall be 
my glory! 

[Washington — his jaw setting gravely — 
looks off through the window, while LaFayette, 
with sudden awe, releases his hand,] 

WASHINGTON 

[Murmurs low,] 
Valley Forge — Valley Forge! Whatever happens 
will be best. 

LAFAYETTE 
[After a pause — quietly.] 
My General — I have forgot — a message. 

WASHINGTON 

Message — who from? 

LAFAYETTE 

The Virginia officers. The oath of allegiance to 



242 WASHINGTON [Act III 

America, when I ask them sign it — they say: No, not 
them: 'tis superfluous — an insult. They ask your 
opinion, by word of me — ^Why should they sign? Do 
you compel it? — ^What shall I tell them? 

WASHINGTON 

Tell them, every oath should be a free act of the 
mind. No compulsion can validate a vow. My 
opinion is nothing. They have their consciences. 
Let them swear, or not swear, by them, 

LAFAYETTE 

I will tell: I think they will swear. I, a Frenchman, 
have sworn. 

[At the tent entrance, Hamilton hurries in, 
followed by a tattered fellow, carrying a post- 
bag. LaFayette gives a joyous cry.] 
Ah, the post! 

HAMILTON 

[Handing a letter to Washington.] 
From Dr. Franklin, Sir: I know the hand. 

WASHINGTON 

[Glancing, breaks it open.] 
From Paris. 

HAMILTON 

[As Washington reads to himself, turns to 
LaFayette and hands another letter.] 
And this for you, Marquis I met the post boy 
on the road. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 243 

WASHINGTON 

[Clutching his open letter tightly.^ 
Gentlemen — listen : 

[He reads,] 
'I have the honour to inform you that this day the 
Alliance between France and the United States of 
America was officially signed and sealed.' 

HAMILTON AND LAFAYETTE 
[In one breath.] 
The Alliance! 

LAFAYETTE 

Ha! Prophecy of my veins! 

HAMILTON 

Our first ally in the Old World — ^to unite both 
worlds for freedom! 

WASHINGTON 

[Turning, calls to Billy — who hovers, curi- 
ous, in the left background.] 
Billy — run out! Bid my sentries fire their guns — 
fourteen rounds — for France and the thirteen States. 
Bolt! Use your legs! 

billy 

Yas'r, marse Ex' — ! Hallelujah! 
[He rushes out. 
Turning back, Washington pauses, looks at 



244 WASHINGTON [Act III 

LaFayette and Hamilton — extending to both 
of them his hands. On either side, each seizes 
his hand and presses it.] 

WASHINGTON 

Boys — my sons — young America and new France! 

HAMILTON 

[Low, and ardent.] 
Trenton — has led to Paris. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Vibrant, elate,] 
Paris — has come home to Valley Forge! 

[His gesture holds aloft the grasped letter in 
his hand.] 

WASHINGTON 
[Observing it, quickly.] 
You, too — a letter? 

LAFAYETTE 

From my wife. May I open — now? 

WASHINGTON 

Pray, do! She shall share our moment of good 
tidings. 

[LaFayette breaks open the seal, and reads 
with his eyes. 

Outside a gun is fired. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 245 

Hamilton and Washington look at each 
other and smile, 

A second gun resounds. 

The letter from LaFayette's hand flutters to 
the ground. 

He presses his side — staring. 

Washington speaks with alarm. ^ 

WASHINGTON 

Marquis!— What is it? 

LAFAYETTE 

[Speaks low — his face rigid.] 
Henriette — she is dead — ma petite Henriette — 

[Convulsively, he clutches his face in his 
hands and turns against Washington's breast.] 

WASHINGTON 

[Embracing him — murmurs with tenderness.] 
My boy! 

[The still- firing guns now resound with mens 
voices cheering outside.] 

LAFAYETTE 

[Starts suddenly away from. Washington — 
his lifted face smiling strangely — his features 
twitching.] 
Henriette — listen ! The guns — L' Alliance — Vive 
la liberte! 



246 WASHINGTON [Act III 



(Ninth Transition) 

With a burst of cheering outside, the Postboy in the 
background raises his own voice — the voice of 
QuiLLOQUON : a louder gun explodes, with instant 
darkness — out of which the Balladefs voice 
rings gaily, to a dance-step tune and rhythm, 

THE VOICE OF QUILLOQUON 

[Sings.'] 

Gypsy Davy came over the sea, 

To his lingo-dingo-dance, sir: 
God keep merry Amer-i-ca ! 

And vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 

Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 

God keep merry Amer-i-cal 
And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 

[During this song, the dark gradually changes, 
through dusky greyness, to broad day.] 



TWELFTH ACTION 

The light reveals a scene of fantastic design and vivid 
colour: a triumphal Archway, constructed — at 



Act III] WASHINGTON 247 

the angle of a city street — in the form of an 
arbour. 

At the centre, back, the arch is festooned with splendid 
cloth of gold, draped from its central keystone, 
from which hangs a great shield ^ painted with 
a landscape (the sun setting beyond water and 
hills), its laurelled oblong set round with flags 
and cannon, and the inscriptions 
Vive Vale 

Luceo Discedens Aucto Splendore Resurgam 

The houses on either side are also draped in magnifi- 
cent colour, through which their colonial door- 
ways constitute ways of entrance and exit, gar- 
landed and adorned with statues, in stucco, of 
Italianesque ladies and pseudo-classic fauns. 
Overhead, the arbour roof is hung with tapes- 
tries florescent with designs of clustered fruits 
and flowers. 

Under this gorgeous archway, a drab, contrasting 
group of tattered American soldiers (with sprigs 
of evergreen in their hats) half surround a 
ragged Singer (Quilloquon). In the back- 
ground others are seen in excited pantomime. 

During this, from the doorway, right, two Figures steal 
out and hasten furtively toward the background. 
One is dressed in a gown of white Polonaise silk, 
tvith pearl headdress and spangled veil; the other 

^ As desiojnerl by John Andre for the Mischianza; page 98 
of Lossing's "Pictorial Field Book of the Revolution." 



248 WASHINGTON [Act III 

is clad like a Mediaeval Knight, his pageant ar- 
mour almost concealed under folds of a great 
cloak embroidered with coats-of-arms, his face 
half hidden by a domino mask, 

QUILLOQUON 

[Singing and dancing to his tune,] 
Gypsy Davy brought over his squad 

With their own true love to lea-d 'um, 
For the lass in the heart of every lad 

Was the Gypsy-Queen of Free-dom, 

Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 

God keep merry Ameri-ca! 
And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 

[The Soldiers cheer, and look on laughing as 
QuiLLOQUON repeats his clog-dance steps, to the 
thrumming of his dulcimer. 

Meantime, The Knight in the domino mask 
speaks quick and low to his companion.] 

THE KNIGHT 

Adorable Mistress Polly, adieu! General Howe 
and General Clinton are in full retreat. I must join 
them. Washington is already in the city. Philadel- 
phia is lost and my heart with it. — Keep this remnant, 
in token of a poor soldier of paint pots. 

[He cuts off a gold button, kisses it and gives 
to her,] 



Act III] WASHINGTON 249 

POLLY 
Farewell. Captain Andre — first soldier-artist of 
America! Come back to us, when English cousins 
are friends again. Meantime, we will hate your old 
king — and adore your young memory. 

ANDRE 

[Ardently, removing his mask,^ 
Yoi^— Mistress Polly? 

POLLY 

Polonaise you were to call me! — See! 
[Smiling, she points to her gown,'\ 

ANDRE 

[Glancing from the gown to the archway,] 
Ah! fair phantasy of my Mischianza! A bubble of 
dreams — 'tis burst. But it was beautiful? 

POLLY 

A triumph for all the Muses ! 

[In frightened tone, as Soldiers draw near.] 
Quick. Put on your mask. They'll see you. 

[The two steal toward the archway, as QuiL- 
LOQUON resumes his singing with the Soldiers,] 

QUILLOQUON 

So hark now, every Free-dom's man 
And remember long and well, sir: 

While David stands with Jon-a-than, 
The Devil he'll stay in hell, sir. 



250 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[Dancing and singing with the Soldiers,^ 

Ree-attle-attle dingo-lingo-dingo, 
Ree-attle-attle dingo-dance, sir: 

God keep merry Amer-i-ca! 
And Vi-ve la bel-le Fran-ce! 

[With his finale, Quilloquon dances off 
through the archway, left.] 

POLLY 

[In a low voice, to Andre.] 
Escape. Be quick. God speed you! 

ANDRE 

[Kissing her hand,] 
Till happier days! 

[He hurries off, right, in the background. 
A bugle blows outside. 
The Soldiers gather to attention. 
Outside The Voice of Washington is heard 
speaking in wrathful fervour.] 

WASHINGTON 

Speculation — peculation! Those army contractors 
are hogs, Sir. Hang 'em on a gibbet as high as Ha- 
man's, aye, nine times higher. Profit-mongers that 
fatten on their country's starving — bleed 'em lean on 
the gallows! Stick 'em for swine: that's my vote, Sir. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 251 

[From the left background, through the arch- 
way, a Bugler (Quilloquon) enters, followed 
by a Little Girl and Boy, who walk backward 
streiving flowers before Washington, who comes 
in talking with a Civilian, and accompanied by 
LaFayette, Hamilton, and other Officers, 

Behind these more Soldiers and Civilians fol- 
low, 

Polly, unclasping her necklace, tosses it in 
Washington's path, and makes him a low cour- 
tesy.^ 

WASHINGTON 

[Pausing with abruptness, bows aloofly,^ 
Madam — 

[To his Orderly, Billy.] 
Restore the lady's possessions. 

POLLY 

[As Billy lifts the necklace, to hand it back,'] 
Not mine, your Excellency. 'Tis legitimate loot. 
I have but robbed the plunder chest of Tyranny, to 
make offering on the altar of Freedom. 

WASHINGTON 

[With a second bow of stiff politeness.] 
A well-meant sentiment, Madam. May I inquire 
whence you are from? 



252 WASHINGTON [Act III 

POLLY 

[Twinkling,] 
From the right bank of the Potomac, General: one 
o' your Jinnies. 

WASHINGTON 
[His coldness breaking with a sudden glow.] 
My dear young lady — your name? 

POLLY 

Polly Redmond, of Fairfax County — ten miles 
from Mt. Vernon. 

WASHINGTON 
[With outright warmth.] 
Mt. Vernon! Dear Mistress Polly — ten times wel- 
come! 

[Kissing her hand.] 
Your devoted servant. 

[Turning to LaFayette.] 
Mistress Polly — the Marquis of LaFayette. 

LAFAYETTE 

[Bowing to her hand.] 
Chere dame de la Polonaise! 

WASHINGTON 
[Introducing the Civilian.] 
And President Laurens — of the United States Con- 
gress. 

[Laurens bows.] 



Act III] WASHINGTON 253 

POLLY 

Gentlemen of the Army and Congress, welcome 
home to your Capital. 

[Pointing to the shield on the archway.] 

You behold! The sunset of General Howe is the 
rising-sun of Washington. His Vale, Sir, is your 
Vive — Vive to the heroes of Valley Forge. But not 
all of us prisoners in Philadelphia are butterflies like 
myself — to flutter in your path. I beg leave, Sir, to 
fetch forth from her hiding — a little moth in grey. 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling.] 
A moth, Mistress Polly? 

POLLY 

A young Quakeress, your Excellency, who spins 
from her grey cocoon the bright colours of liberty. 
With that silk. Sir, the stars of your exile, and the 
stripes of your suff'ering, she has sewed in a flag for 
our country. 

[Smiling.] 

— By your own orders. General! 

WASHINGTON 

Ah! I remember. 

POLLY 

[Calling at the doorstep, left,] 
Betsy! — Betsy! 



254 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[In the doorway appears the young Quakeress, 

carrying a furled banner. Seizing her gaily by 

the arm, Polly brings her forward and presents 

her, with a curtsy.^ 

Your Excellency and Gentlemen — Mistress Betsy 

Ross, and the first flag of the United States of Amer- 



ica! 



[Unfurling the flag, Betsy steps shyly for- 
ward, extending it toward Washington. 

There, as the Stripes and thirteen Stars float 
out, the Bugler (Quilloquon) blows on his 
bugle a joyous blast. 



(Tenth Transition) 

The blast of the bugle dies away in utter darkness, 
through which the voice of Quilloquon is heard 
singing, to an old ballad tune: 

QUILLOQUON 

Oh! — I've lost my heart to Betsy, 

to Betsy, 
to Betsy! 
My heart I cross 
To Betsy Ross, 
With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
Of the red and white and blue. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 255 

[Now, through a narrow opening of the blue 
curtains, only the flag, held by Betsy, is still 
visible, and the form of Quilloquon dancing 
before it with the two Children, who join in the 
refrain of the song:] 

Oh! — Because she sewed so neatly, 

so neatly, 
so neatly, 
My heart I cross 
To Betsy Ross, 
With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
Of the red and white and blue. 

[And now, in the background, the form of the 
Quakeress has disappeared, and the flag alone 
flutters like flame against the dark.] 

And — ^Wherever she waves so sweetly, 

so sweetly, 
so sweetly, 
My heart I cross 
To Betsy Ross, 
With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
Of the red and white and blue. 

So — Carry me back to Betsy, 

to Betsy, 
to Betsy, 
My heart that's lost 
To Betsy Ross, 



256 WASHINGTON [Act III 

With her glancety, dancety bars and stars 
Of the red and white and blue. 

[A deep gun resounds. 

During its reverberations, the blue curtains 
close,] 



THIRTEENTH ACTION 

Now, from within, the thunder has become a noise as 
of distant battle — far shouts of men mingled 
with crashes and concussions. 

During this, the blue curtains part again half way, 
revealing a night scene — an Embrasure in a Bat- 
tery, behind which the background flickers with 
torchlight and smoky fire. 

Outlined against this — half his height above a black 
rampart — Washington stands, looking off, 
right. Near him, the flag with thirteen stars 
blows flame-like on a fierce wind. 

Lower down, head and shoulders visible — stands 
Knox: crouching lower in shadow — a Third 
Officer. 

Occasionally, all three Figures stand out for an in- 
stant in stark light, shot by gleams from breaking 
rockets beyond. 



Act III] WASHINGTON 257 

Through the battle noises their voices are heard 
speaking, between pauses of dumb watching. 

KNOX 

Yorktown is falling, General. Comwallis is 
caught by pinchers of fire: Hamilton there from the 
right, LaFayette from the left — he's nabbed between 
'em; and the French fleet blocks his road to the sea. 

WASHINGTON 

[With tense calm,'\ 
My sons are fighting well. 

KNOX 

Rochambeau's men are yonder. — There's the sec- 
ond rocket. That's Hamilton's from his redoubt. 
The third will signal victory. 

THE THIRD OFFICER 

[Leaping up beside Washington.] 
For God's sake, General, stand down! You'll be 
struck here. This place is too perilous. 

WASHINGTON 

[Still looking off.^ 
If you think so, Sir, you are at liberty to step back. 

KNOX 

[To the Officer, as he partly withdraws. 1 
Don't worry. Bullets bark at him ; they never bite. 



258 WASHINGTON Act III] 

WASHINGTON 

[During a lull, tense and deeply.] 
Friend Knox — my sword itches. — How many years 
has it been? 

KNOX 

Six years we've been at it, General. Now — only a 
moment more! 

WASHINGTON 

One moment — and a thousand years! 

KNOX 

[Points, shouting aloud.] 
See there — it breaks — the third rocket! 

[Grasping Washington's hand.] 
Huzza ! 

WASHINGTON 

The work is done, and well done. — Bring me my 
horse. 

[Their silhouettes disappear,] 



(Eleventh Transition) 

Amid a burst of far cheering, the curtains close, part- 
ing again half way, as the cheering ebbs and, 



f > 



[Act III WASHINGTON 259 

rising tumultuous again, merges with a belVs 
deep clanging. 
To these sounds, The Town Crier (Quilloquon), 
with his lantern pole, is glimpsed in passing as 
before, calling with long cry intoned, 

THE TOWN CRIER 

Comwallis is taken! — Yorktown is fallen! — Com- 
wallis is taken! 

[The Crier passes off in the night. 
The clanging of the bell grows fainter and 
ceases,] 



FOURTEENTH ACTION 
Part 1 

From the moment's quiet that ensues, comes a low 
murmur of Mens Voices as in conversation. 

In another pause, small pulsing lights are seen glow- 
ing, grouped in a semi-circle. The lights glow 
upward from the bowls of long-stemmed pipes, 
illumining fitfully the faces and forms of Men 
in Officers' uniforms, seated in a group, of whom 
One is sitting near the centre of their shadowy 
half-circle. 



260 WASHINGTON [Act III 

This one speaks first, the others in their turns speak- 
ing quietly, with voices of subdued emotion, 

THE FIRST 

Gentlemen, how shall we proceed? 

ANOTHER 

I move Colonel Nicola be our spokesman. 

A THIRD 

Second the motion. 

OTHERS 

[Scatter edly,] 
Amen! 

THE FIRST 

[Nicola] 
Fellow officers, I am at your service. Being but a 
Colonel, I may serve the better as your errand-bearer. 
I have already dispatched our joint appeal by letter. 
I will wait upon him in person. 

A FOURTH 

It may be well. Colonel, for you to urge our sev- 
eral feelings. As for mine, if need be, I will gladly 
starve for my country — but not for Congress. 

A FIFTH 

I concur. General. Some gentlemen of the Con- 
gress have short memories. They forget a day when 



Act III] WASHINGTON 261 

they bolted bareback from the Capital, to the cat-calls 
of the enemy — an enemy whom we, not they, have 
beaten, and restored those honourable gentlemen to 
their seats at the Capital. 

A SIXTH 

Yet now they plan to disband us — penniless, bank- 
rupt : no provision for our families, no reward for our 
soldiers : us — the army that wintered at Valley Forge. 
Seven years we have served, and now — disband us 
so, by God! 

THE SECOND 

Friends, we are not yet disbanded. 

SEVERAL 

No! 

THE SECOND 

We have our guns: our powder and shot are still 
dry. 



SEVERAL 



Yes — yes! 



THE SECOND 

Well, then, if we refuse to disband until we secure 
justice — who shall compel us to disband? — Congress? 

THE SIXTH 

[Amid sinister murmurs,] 
Let 'em try it! 



262 WASHINGTON Act III] 

NICOLA 
Gentlemen of the army, our argument goes deeper 
than that. We still hold the power — true; but none 
of us wishes to abuse it. 

THE SIXTH 

How abuse — ? 

NICOLA 

Pray, General — one moment. Our wrongs are 
deep, intolerable. So, then, the redress of our wrongs 
must go as deep — deep to the roots of our form of 
government. A Republic — has one ever been tested? 
Rome teaches us how. Democracy — what people of 
the earth has followed that dream and survived? 
Gentlemen, let us be wise in our time. There is but 
one solution: Monarchy — and one man in supreme 
command. 

[The darkness buzzes with low mutterings. 

Then a pause of silence. 

The glowing pipe-bowls pulse quicker.] 

THE SECOND 

[Very quietly.] 
Aye, Sir, — one man. There is only one in Amer- 
ica. 

THE THIRD 

We have sent him our letter. He is probably read- 
ing it now. 



[Act III WASHINGTON 263 

THE SIXTH 

Rome, you said, Colonel. 'Twill be easier for him 
than for Caesar. We offer him the crown in his tent 
— not in the forum. 

THE SECOND 

He'll not put it by — thrice. 

NICOLA 

[Rising.] 
Fellow officers, he has our letter. He needs no 
other charger to hand him the blazoned crown. — 
Shall I go for our answer? 

ALL 

[Rising,] 

Aye. 

NICOLA 

I'll return at once and inform you. 

[He pauses; — his voice quivers,] 
Gentlemen — long live the King! 

ALL 

[Echoing, with deep murmur,] 
The King! 

[Nicola goes. 

The glowing lights pulse no longer. 

Through the dark, very faintly, the strains of 
a violin rise and die away on the melody of 
*' America," uncompleted.] 



264 WASHINGTON [Act III 



Part 2 

And now, on the left, a single candle gleams visible. 
Its screened light is thrown only on the light- 
stand where it rests, and on the form of Wash- 
ington, seated beside it. 

From a case he takes out a pair of spectacles and puts 
them on. 

From his pocket he takes a letter, opens it and reads. 

While he does so, out of the darkness near him, there 
glows dimly upon the air a gleaming Crown, 
glimpsed with the misty stars and colours of the 
American flag. 

After a moment, Washington moves the letter in his 
right hand beyond the candle-light; ivith his 
left he puts off his spectacles, closing his eyes. 

Raising the letter with a silent gesture, he crumples 
it in his grasp — then lets it fall. 

As it falls, the gleaming phasma of the Crown and 
Colours disappears, and the voice of Billy the 
Negro speaks from the darkness, right. 

BILLY 

Colonel Nicola, Marse Ex'lency. 
[Washington moves slightly. 
Adjusting the shade of the candle, he looks up 
where Nicola steps into its light; then he looks 
away again.^ 



Act III] WASHINGTON 265 

NICOLA 

[After a pause.] 
A letter has preceded me, General. — You have read 
it? 

WASHINGTON 

[Very quietly — still looking off.] 

Yes. 

NICOLA 

[After another pause,] 
May I transmit your answer? 

WASHINGTON 

[Slowly, looking up at him — intense,] 
Yes. 

[Rising, with deliberation, he walks silently 
back and forth twice. Pausing, then, he points 
to the crumpled letter on the floor, and says — 
with quiet.] 
There it is. 

NICOLA 

[Hesitates — then picks it up.] 
Your answer, General? 

WASHINGTON 

Yes. 

[Nicola moves as if to speak — but stops — 
then is turning away, when Washingtojv speaks 
again.] 
Wait! 



266 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[He takes the letter from Nicola.] 
Perhaps I should write a word in reply. 

[Going to the light-stand, he searches about 
for a moment, finds his spectacles, fumbles to 
put them on, but pauses — turning with a sad 
smile, ^ 
Nay, Sir, — you see! Those who sent you — tell 
them this: — I have grown both blind and grey in 
your service. I am your old friend. The wrongs 
you suffer, I will help redress them — but not with in- 
famy. This letter is sick with thoughts abhorrent to 
mankind. No pang of all this war has ever pained 
me so deep. But no word of it shall pass my lips. 
Let me conjure you, then, if you have any regard 
for your country, concern for yourselves or posterity, 
or respect for me — banish these thoughts from your 
minds — as I burn them now from my sight. 

[Holding the letter in the candle-flame, he 
watches it burn to ashes J\ 

NICOLA 

[Saluting, speaks hoarsely J\ 
I will take your answer, General. 
[Turning, he goes off. 

Washington stands a moment — his head bent 
heavily, his shoulders sagged and heaving. 

Then, moving slowly to the chair, he sits, with 
the action and look of old age. Fingering his 



Act III] WASHINGTON 267 

spectacles, he stares at them — his lips whisper- 
ing. Then he calls, low:] 

WASHINGTON 
Billy! 

[Billy comes from the shadow, and stands 
near. Washington looks up at him — wistful.] 
Any word from home? 

BILLY 

No, Marse Ex'lency. 

WASHINGTON 

[After a moment.] 
Billy — fetch another light. My candle is growing 
dim. 

[Billy goes out with the candle. In the 
darkness, there is silence.] 



(Twelfth Transition) 

Now — far away — deep, choral Voices begin to sing; 
and while the recurrent words of their negro 
melody increase in nearness to the ear, the fa- 
miliar outlines of its former Scene recur once 
more to the eye. 



268 WASHINGTON Act III] 

THE CHORAL VOICES 

Adam and Eba, wipe yo' eyes, 

'T ain't no good fo' ter gaze at de garden: 
Closed is de do's ob Paradise; 

'T ain't no good fo' ter axe no pardon. 

Oh, whafll I lay my heart down? 
Oh, whafll I lay my heart down? 

Eden home is far away. — 
Oh, nebber mind! 
ril lay my heart down 

Down in de lap ob oV Virgin-ee-ay! 



FIFTEENTH ACTION 

From the ceasing refrain, a hubbub of gay voices now 
rises in talk and banter — voices of Negroes call- 
ing ''Merry Christmas F' through the colonnade 
and kitchen door of the Mt, Vernon homestead, 
now becoming visible — its small-paned windows 
glowing bright from lamps within — while, 
through the arches, the flare of bon-fires flickers. 

The conversation of two stooping Figures — an Old 
Man and an Old Woman — sounds clearest. 

The Man 
Sho, sho, Mammy Sal! De fust-off singin' ob 
Chris'mas Ebe — I reckon dat was ol' Eba singin' to 
her chilluns in de garden. 



[Act III WASHINGTON 269 

THE WOMAN 

Go 'long, Zekiel, you's a-failin' fas'. Chris'mas 
Ebe, dat ain't 01' Tes'ament psalms: dat's Noo Tes'a- 
ment gospel. 

Chris'mas Ebe — dat's de cow-shep'erds' song- 
hymn, w'en de Lo'd he come fust like a chil' in de ol' 
folkses' home, an' dey done tuck 'im in de manger. 

ZEKIEL 

Mebbe so, Mammy. Us a-bof we's fas' slidin' 
down-hill. But de bon-fires am a-bumin'; an' Merry- 
Chris' mas 1 sings all de same! 

MAMMY SAL 

All de samer, you better be singin'! — An' yere 
Marse George home agin! Marse George come a- 
home to his ol' Bride Missy — bof togedder once mo' 
— safe togedder as was sunder'd — an' de little gran'- 
chilluns growin' spicky-span noo, by de long-ago chim- 
bley! 

[The house door opens. 

From within come the sounds of fiddling and 
laughter and the sweet voice of a Woman, who 
appears in the doorway, smiling under the white 
cap of Martha Washington, as she speaks to a 
little Boy and Girl on the threshold.] 

MARTHA 

All right, children — outdoors with you, just a min- 
ute. 



270 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[Pinching the Boy's ear.] 
Then back in, Sir, quick — or Jack Frost will nip his 
namesake. 

Here: wait! Your Grandma will sniff the air, too, 
and bring her goodman along. — George! They want 
to see the bon-fires. Come out. 

[Turning to the looming form of Washington 
behind her, she takes his arm, leaning on it as 
she comes out with him down the door-steps, 
preceded by the two Children, who run ahead of 
them, looking off at the bon-fires. 

Where they pause, the shaft of light through 
the doorway gleams on the grey locks and time- 
scarred features of Washington, as he looks 
down at Martha, and speaks — with deep breath 
of gladness.] 

WASHINGTON 

Home, Patsy! — home and peace! 

MARTHA 

Never again — war. 

WASHINGTON 

Would to God it might be never, and that plague of 
mankind banished from our earth for always! What 
grudgers and graspers covet the world, as if it were 
not room enough for all to keep house in happily! 



Act III] WASHINGTON 271 

MARTHA 

[Twitching his arm, smiles up at him.'\ 
Here's one housekeeper happy. 

WASHINGTON 

[Smiling back.] 
Nay, — two ! 

MARTHA 

[Pointing to the Children, who come running 
toward them,] 
And a fresh start — all round. See! Now we be- 
gin all over again. 

WASHINGTON 

[Greeting the Children.] 
Well, brother and sister! 

[Taking the Boy's hand.] 
Another young Jack — for his dear father, dead! 

MARTHA 

[Fondling the Girl.] 
And here's Nellie Custis — for little Patsy, long ago. 

WASHINGTON 
Old bark — new branches! 

[To the Boy, who tugs at his sword, mur- 
muring.] 
Heigh, Jack? You want my sword? — Here, Patsy, 
unbuckle what Sergeant Pat buckled on. 



272 WASHINGTON [Act III 

[Martha ungirdles his sword, which they both 
hand to the Boy.] 
Take it, laddie: but hearkee! Never use it — to 
show off to your sister! 

MARTHA 

[With a scurrying gesture.} 
Run in quick, to the fireplace! 

[Carrying the sword with its girdle, the BoY 
runs in with the little Girl. 

From the kitchen door. Mammy Sal has come 
forward, followed farther off by Zekiel. 
White-haired and stooped, she reaches her arms 
— trembling — to Washington, and clutches him 
silently. 

Turning quickly, Washington caresses the 
old Woman s shoulders with his arm.] 

WASHINGTON , 

You, Mammy Sal? — Merry Christmas! 

MAMMY SAL 

[Clutching him tighter.] 
Marse George — Marse George! 

[Releasing him, she looks in his face.] 
Ain't no mo' fo' ter say: jes' on'y — Marse George! 

[Sobbing low, she turns away and hobbles 
back toward the kitchen, met on the way by 



I 



Act III] WASHINGTON 273 

Zekiel, to whom Washington waves a hearty 
gesture,] 

WASHINGTON 

Howdy, Zekiel! 

ZEKIEL 

Howdy, Massa! 

[Taking Mammy Sal by the arm, the old 
Negro leads her in to the kitchen. 

Looking after them, Washington clutches his 
hand, biting at its edge; then, turning, he speaks 
to Martha.] 

WASHINGTON 

No more. Patsy — henceforward, no more masters! 
There must be only free people — under these stars! 
For me and mine — I've willed it. 

[From the house comes a shout of young 
Voices.] 

MARTHA 

They are calling us, George — the children. 

WASHINGTON 

[His brow clearing,] 
We'll join them. 

[On the doorstep, he stops beside Martha — 
makes a wondering gesture, and murmurs:] 



274 WASHINGTON [Act III 

All over again! Here, on this doorstep — listen! 

Do you hear that sound? 

•f 

MARTHA 

Aye — neighbours coming to welcome you home. 
'Tis sleigh-bells, my dear. 

WASHINGTON 

To me — not sleigh-bells, my dear. Brother Law- 
rence, he heard 'em — long ago. To me — 'tis frogs, 
— frogs piping. 

MARTHA 
[With a little laugh.] 
On Christmas Eve — frogs piping! 

WASHINGTON 

In the swamp. [With a youthful gusto.] — ^Ha! 
Now we can get back on the real job, and this time 
we'll finish it. This time, Pats, — we will drain that 
swamp 1 

[To a fresh burst of clear Voices and the notes 
of a Fiddler, seen within through the doorway, 
they go in to the house. 
The door closes.] 



(Thirteenth Transition) 

The fiddle still plays — the tune of Bangry Rewy. 
Now it seems to play farther off, and the lighted win- 



Epilogue] WASHINGTON 275 

dows grow paler, as a growing brightness out of 
doors increases to the full light of day, passing 
to the colours of approaching sunset. 
With the tune of his song's refrain, the Fiddler (QuiL- 
loquon) peers through the colonnade, from the 
right background. There, followed by the peep- 
ing Children, he comes out and stops playing, as 
they sit together, shadowed, in the foreground. 



EPILOGUE 
SIXTEENTH ACTION 

(Recession) 

As the notes of the fiddle stop, there sounds — from 
beyond the colonnade — the music of a band 
playing in medley the national airs of the Al- 
lies, while along the path, left, now enter, walk- 
ing slowly, two Civilians^ in modern garb. 

Pensively they speak to each other, as the music 
sounds ever nearer. 

ONE 

They are coming from the tomb. 

THE OTHER 

No, from the temple. 

^ The Fourth Civilian and Second Civilian of the Pro- 
logue. 



276 WASHINGTON [Epilogue 

THE FIRST 

All the allies of freedom sent their tributes. 

THE SECOND 

George of England sent England's laurel. 

THE FIRST 

Did you see young LaFayette? A kinsman, they 
say. 

THE SECOND 

A great-grandson. — We live dreams. Freedom's 
ancestors do not die. They unite with posterity — 'to 
form a more perfect union.' 

THE FIRST 

Our Alliance! 

THE SECOND 

More than that: Liberty organic: our Declaration 
of Interdependence — our World-League. Listen — 
that music! 

THE FIRST 

Time is mingling our national airs today. 

THE SECOND 

Time does more at Mt. Vernon. We shall hear it 
— tomorrow. 

THE FIRST 

Hear what? 



Epilogue] WASHINGTON 277 

THE SECOND 

One choral song for all. 

THE FIRST 

The old Marseillaise? 

THE SECOND 

A new one: the will-song of a world: the will that 
wrought through him, who still leads us on. 

THE FIRST 

The man who made us. — Tell me; you're an artist: 
that will — shall we see it, too, — made visible — a face 
behind the folk-song? 

THE SECOND 

Who can tell? Millions die for it — but still its 
face is cowled from us. 

[Through the colonnade, to the medley of 
their national airs, flags of the Allied Nations 
begin to be visible. 

Watching, the two draw back on the left, where 
they disappear. 

Through the arches, the sky in the background 
glows now with the sunsefs red, deepening in 
intensity with the martial music, which heralds 
from outside the unfurled colours of the flags 
as they enter. 

These, as they mass with their bearers, leave 



278 WASHINGTON [Epilogue 

still vacant the central archway, on either side of 
which, the American, the British {on the right), 
the French, the Italian {on the left), — these, 
grouped with the Belgian, the Serbian, Polish, 
Greek, Portuguese, the Chinese Republic, Japa- 
nese, Brazilian, Cuban, and the other banners of 
the Allies, — blazon in massed splendour the 
curve of the colonnade. 

Now the airs in medley cease, with one moment 
of silence. 

The central arch fills with a clear wine of crim- 
son. 

And now, to fiery burst of the Marseillaise, 
the wine-light clouds with gules of a Red-Robed 
Form — a vast, majestic Presence, its face hid- 
den in deep Cowl — burning at the centre of the 
many-dyed banners of the nations. 

Across this glowing pageant, the blue curtains 
sweep and close — while, abruptly, the flaring 
music ceases. 



[Finale^ 

Outside — in the shock of silence — seated 
where the curtains conjoin, Quilloquon lifts his 
dulcimer and smiles at the Children beside him. 

Very quietly, he begins to play and sing to his 
lulling accompaniment.] 



Epii ogue] WASHINGTON 279 

QUILLOQUON 

There was a little ship in the North Amerikee, 

She went by the name of the Golden Libertee, 

As she sailed in the Low-de-lands low, — 

[From above, the outer curtain — slowly fall- 
ing — begins to shut off the three Figures.] 

The red, red hearts were burning her golden decks 

aboard, 
Her Captain he was standing where cloudy eagles 
soared — 

The Curtain Has Fallen 

FINIS 



APPENDIX 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Comments on the Play, Concerning 

Historical References 283 

The Theme 284 

The Ballads 285 

The "Ballad-Play" Structure 

The Two Versions 287 

The Transitions 290 

Acknowledgments 291 

Title Page, Unabridged 292 

Actions and Transitions with Scenes and Char- 
acters 293 

Acting Roles 305 

List of Properties 309 

"The American Patriot's Prayer," by Thomas Paine 312 

"Arivederci" 313 



282 



COMMENTS ON THE PLAY 

CONCERNING 
HISTORICAL REFERENCES 

If he has read the Prelude of this play, the proverbial 
Gentle Reader will hardly expect an exhaustive bibliog- 
raphy in the Appendix. I shall, at least, feel free to com- 
pile none. 

It is enough perhaps to say here that, though it has not 
at all been my aim to write an historical or "costume" play 
in the usual sense, I have naturally immersed myself in my 
subject in order to express it; and in doing so, I have never 
consciously ignored the "facts" of history, but I have no- 
where used them for their own sakes merely. A few minor 
inconsistencies of time and place (needful to dramatic 
epitomizing) will be obvious to the informed who may look 
for them. 

In the dialogue I have used in rare instances the actual 
words of Washington and other persons of history, but 
these are not indicated in the text. Longer selections from 
original sources, however, are indicated by 'single quotation 
marks,' which throughout the book always indicate ex- 
cerpts from historical documents. 

Of such are the excerpts from "The First Book of the 
American Chronicles of the Times" ^ (a document of 1774- 
'75, written, perhaps, by Francis Hopkinson) in the Sixth 
Action ; from Tom Paine's "The Crisis" ^ and "Common- 

1 See "The Literary History of the American Revolution," by 
Moses Coit Tyler (Putnam's. 1898). Volume I, pages 257-265, 175, 
252: a work unique and admirable. 

2 See "The Life of Thomas Paine," by Moncure D. Conway, page 86. 

283 



284 APPENDIX 

sense" in the Ninth Action; from Philip Frenau's "Crispin 
O'Connor's Answer"^ ('They taxed my sun,' etc.) in the 
Sixth Action; and from "The St. James Chronicle"^ ('0 
Boston wives and maids,' etc.) in the Sixth Action. 

To those Actions of my play which treat of Mt. Vernon, 
one book has contributed so much of appealing suggestion 
that I wish every reader of this might be led to its graciously 
engaging pages. Paul Wilstach's "Mt. Vernon" (Double- 
day Page, 1916) is the book — an endearing story of the 
most endeared homestead in the world. 

THE THEME 

A hundred varied plays are potential in the great theme 
of Washington, yet strangely this play, so far as I know, 
is the first one - written for professional production, which 
aims to portray Washington himself as its chief central 
character. 

Today, Washington — dead — is for most people a figure 
remote, statuesque, dignified, cold, almost mythical; one 
to be revered, but not warmly loved. But in his own day 
— alive — ^he was a magnetic human being, passionate, pa- 
tient, resourceful — a rugged personality, lovable and 
greatly beloved. 

It has been, then, my aim so to portray him in his strong 
prime, with truth to reality, that we of today (and especially 
our young men of America, fighting today for what he 
fought for) may be led to feel a more intimate affection for 
"the man who made us," and for the still contemporary 
cause which he espoused for mankind. 

1 See Volume by Tyler, pages mentioned in Footnote on Page 283. 

2 Since the announcement of the production of this play by Arthur 
Hopkins, my friend Augustus Thomas has told me that an early play 
of his, entitled "Col. George of Mt. Vernon," was performed for a 
week at the Castle Square Theatre, Boston. 



APPENDIX 285 

THE BALLADS 

For the ballads in this play I am highly indebted to the 
suggestiveness inherent in a recent, important volume, 
"English l^olk Songs of the Southern Appalachians" by 
Cecil Sharp and Olive Dame Campbell, published by Put- 
nam's, New York. 

To Mr. Sharp's masterly work as a scholar in folk-song 
and folk-dance the art of the theatre has before now been 
debtor. In the book just mentioned, he has personally 
collected, from natives of our southern mountains, an as- 
tonishing wealth of ballad material. 

To American men of letters it comes as an inspiring dis- 
covery, and offers a creative potentiality today such as the 
first publication of Percy's Reliques must have presented to 
English poets and writers of an earlier century. 

Similarly, I think Mr. Sharp may feel the satisfaction 
that his great and painstaking labours hold promise of a 
fertile and varied reworking in creative American litera- 
ture for years to come. 

In writing the ballads here presented I have allowed my- 
self the same liberty which Robert Burns and other ballad- 
writers of other times have permitted themselves — the 
liberty of writing new words to old folk-tunes and old re- 
frains, ill the spirit of these. 

Of the play's ballads nearly all are written to be sung to 
the traditional tunes of the Appalachian Mountains as col- 
lected in the volume mentioned; one only ("The Raggle- 
Taggle Gypsies"^) is verbatim an old English ballad — one 
recently made familiar to Americans by the unrivalled sim- 
plicity and charm of the Fuller Sisters' singing. 

"Gypsy Davy came over the sea" ^ is the first line of a dif> 

1 See the Fuller Sisters' broadsides, H. W. Gray Co., New York. 

2 The first stanza and refrain of the version of this ballad as given 



286 APPENDIX 

ferent but related ballad which I first heard sung by a New 
Hampshire native and neighbour at Cornish, N. H., Mr. H. B. 
Jordan, whose memory is rich with speech and lore racy of 
our Yankee soil. 

The first lines of the Appalachian ballads, for the tunes 
of which my own ballads have been written, are indicated in 
parentheses, as follows:^ 

" There was a little ship in the North Amerikee" ( same 
first line: page 143, B) ; "Bangry Rewy acourting did ride" 
(same first line: page 28, A) ; "There was a young fellow 
who followed the plough" ("There was an old man who 
followed the plough:" page 139, A); "There were some 
boys on Bunker's hill" ("There is a wild boar in this 
wood:" page 28, B) ; "A fighter would a-fiddling go" ("A 
keeper would a-hunting go." ~) 

"She leaned herself against a thorn" (same first line: 
page 31, E); "Oh! I've lost my heart to Betsy" ("Oh! 
There came a Duke a-riding." -). 

The Chorus of the Liberty Boys, in the Sixth Action, is 
based on an American song of the Revolution ^ for which 
no music of that time has been found in the archives. 

me by Mr. Jordan (the music to which will shortly be published with 
that of the other ballads in this play) are as follows: 

"Gypsy Davy came over the sea, 

The song he sang so boldly, — 
A-sitting under the green wood tree 

A-charming the heart of my-lady." 

*'Reattle-attle, dingo-dingo-dingo, 

Reattle-attle, dingo-daisy! 
A-sitting under the green wood tree, 

A-charming the heart of my-lady" 

1 The page references in parentheses are to Sharp and Campbell's 
"English Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians," Putnams, 1917. 

2 See the Fuller Sisters' broadsides, H. W. Gray Co., New York. 

3 " A New Song to an Old Tune," written 1775, between the dates 
of Lexington and Bunker Hill: See Tyler's "Literary History of the 
American Revolution," Vol. I, page 257. 



APPENDIX 287 

Of "Adam and Eba," tlie choral song of the negroes in 
the Fourth Transition, — the words and melody are the au- 
thor's. "I know my robe," etc., chanted by Mam^my Sal, 
in the Third Action, is an old familiar Negro hymn. 

Numerous versions of the words of "Yankee Doodle" are 
traditional, and, of these, two in part are used in the Eighth 
Action. Originally a country-dance song, it is here (per- 
haps for the first time) revived in its original use, to the ac- 
companiment of country-dancing. 

THE "BALLAD-PLAY" STRUCTURE 
The Two Versions 

So much, then, for the ballads of my play: but why a 
"ballad-play"? This is, I think, the first by that name, 
and being also probably the first in its kind, that special 
designation may have its usefulness. 

In the Preface I have mentioned two versions of the 
play: its Theatre Version as it will be produced this season, 
in our present-day theatre, with abbreviated text, and what 
I may call its Festival Version — as here published, un- 
abridged, in book form. 

Every working dramatist and producer knows his "version 
with cuts" — usually the result of strenuous rehearsals in 
the theatre, before the first night and during some days 
after. His original longer version may perhaps be pub- 
lished for so-called "literary" reasons, but has otherwise 
no further raison d'etre or definite practical usefulness. 

The present text of "Washington" is not such a longer 
version, nor is its text as produced this season such a "ver- 
sion with cuts." 

From its inception, I have had always in mind its two 
definite versions — one (the briefer), designed to be prac- 



288 APPENDIX 

tical for well known conditions of our theatre today, one 
(the longer) designed to be practical for less well known 
conditions of our theatre tomorrow- -the distinct signs and 
characteristics of which have been steadily borne in upon 
my own experience during the last seven or eight years of 
experiment and demonstration in the field of community 
drama. 

Both versions, howevei, could hardly have been struc- 
turally fused from the start, were it not for the auspicious 
fact diat already our commercial theatre of today is ready 
for the beginnings of a new-theatre technique within its own 
walls, through the work of a few pioneering artists evolved 
there. Without the discovering vision of Gordon Craig, this 
new art — born of the theatre — might not yet have been re- 
leased for the world, without Robert Edmond Jones and a 
very few others, it would not now be instrumental for Amer- 
ica. In inventing, therefore, a certain structure for this 
play, I have, I think, been enabled — by an art evolved and 
still evolving — to design definitely for both today and to- 
morrow. 

To treat specifically the many aspects of this great oppor- 
tunity would require a lengthy essay, here out of place. 
But, since critical interpreters are habitually more slow 
than creative workers to detect and illuminate things very 
important potentially, it may be useful for me to touch 
upon my meaning as regards this play, briefly, in two or 
three aspects of it. 

The basic requirement of the community theatre is ex- 
pression — expression varied to its maximum to include ex- 
pressional opportunity for the largest number of individual 
participants practicable. 

The basic requirement of the commercial theatre is just 
the opposite — expression concentrated to its minimum, to 
include only the kind of expressional opportunity, within 



APPENDIX 289 

range of the fewest needful actors, and proportioned to 
their salaries for competence or reputation. 

To solve these diametrically opposed requirements be- 
comes, then, the problem and function of a dramatist who 
seeks to bring the practical beginnings of community (or 
"festival" ^) drama and theatre into being, under present- 
day conditions of the commercial theatre itself. 

For community necessities, his play should have the 
maximum number of characters, with maximum opportunity 
for expression; for commercial necessities — the minimum 
of these. 

Having both these kinds of necessity as objects, my play 
"Washington" has — for festival theatre purposes — a maxi- 
mum number and variety of acting roles for community 
participants within its necessary time-scope; while — for 
commercial theatre purposes — it arranges the distribution 
of these roles so that they may be enacted by the minimum 
number of professional actors. 

Thus a total of one hundred speaking characters (actable 
by one hundred community participants) may be acted by a 
company of twenty-nine professionals, inclusive of two chil- 
dren, who do not speak. (Reference to the accompanying 
lists of Characters and Acting Roles — Individuals and 
"Doubles" — will make this specifically clearer.) 

This implies, of course, on the part of acting profession- 
als, an artistic desire (not too wide-spread in the profession 
at present) for variety of opportunity in their acting, be- 
cause of necessity most of them must "double," and some of 
them several times, during one night's performance; but the 
number of such artist professionals is larger, I think, than 
generally supposed, and for such artists, a structure like this 
of "Washington" presents to the smaller-part actor an even- 

1 The Greek, as all ancient drama, was the "festival" drama of com- 
munities. 



290 APPENDIX 

ing's repertory of parts more comprehensive of his talents 
than any of the single big-part actors (save perhaps one or 
two) possesses?. 

But there is another needful function which the structure 
of such a play must perform for festival purposes. Those 
purposes are best served in communities by assigning struc- 
tural portions of the testival unit to separate grou})s — groups 
often located necessarily in places distant from one another 
— for this assignment greatly facilitates not only the prac- 
ticability and expertness of local rehearsals, bar also the 
social entente of neighbourhood.team work, which is a fun- 
damental community object. It vastly enhances, moreover, 
the organic* beauty of the ensemble festival, which is the 
harmony of its parts. 

With this function in view, then, "Washington" comprises 
(besides its fourteen Transitions) sixteen Actions, twelve at 
least of which are separate dramatic entities, capable of 
separate rehearsal and performance, while remaining har- 
moniously related to the structural whole in festival produc- 
tion. 

For purposes of the commercial theatre, however, this 
total structure h:i^ not to be weakened by "cuts" in the or- 
ganic parts, ^iiridgment is, of course, needful, but— by 
conceiving the two distinct requirements clearly — the solu- 
tion of both may be wrought out from the start. That, at 
least, has seemed to me the only craftsmanly way of tackling 
the job to be done. 

The Transitions 

The above mentioned solution, in the case of "Washing- 
ton," is brought nearer by the functional device of the 
Transitions, whereby an on-flowing continuity and variety of 
action (with no heavy sets of the old reg^ime to impede it) 
enables the dramatist (like the sculptor) to project a mani- 



APPENDIX 291 

fold frieze of figures structurally related, and leads to a 
large new freedom in his art, akin to that of the Elizabethan 
technique, but (thanks to our modern art of lighting) 
without the starkness of that. 

Into these Transitions, Quilloquon— the singer and 
dancer of ballads — introduces an opportunity in the new, 
growing movement of our native poetry, filled with fresh 
avenues as yet hardly trod or explored. In a single play, 
these fresh paths can only be hinted; but whether by that 
name or not, this first experiment in the "ballad-play" is 
sure, I think, to be followed up and perfected by the many 
young minds whose rich promise is expressing itself in 
American poetry and dance and music today. To them, 
and to the great people from whom they are steadily emerg- 
ing— far more than to literary recorders — I submit what is 
creatively potential in this first attempt. 

They also may see in this play the beginnings of an art 
which, not excluding the nuances of rhythmic sound, is re- 
lated through light to unexplored uses of the motion pic- 
ture; and they may also detect the suggestion of new func- 
tions in dramatic art for what I may term a motivated 
vaudeville form. 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

To Dr. Allan McLane Hamilton (grandson of Alexander 
Hamilton) of Great Barrington, Mass.; H. Barrett Learned, 
of Washington, D. C.; C. K. Bolton, of the Boston Athe- 
neum; Frank H. Chase, of the Boston Public Library; and 
to Katharine and Helen Sumner, of Washington — I am 
indebted for various kind offices helpful to the writing of 
this play. 



292 APPENDIX 

WASHINGTON 
The Man Who Made Us 

A BALLAD-PLAY 
in a 

PROLOGUE, THREE ACTS, AND EPILOGUE 
Comprising 

SIXTEEN ACTIONS and FOURTEEN TRANSITIONS 
as follows: 

Prologue: Action 1 (Prelude) 

Action 2 (Induction) 
ACT I.: Actions 3 to 5 (incl.) 

Transitions 1 to 4 
ACT II.: Actions 6 to 9 

Transitions 5 to 7 
ACT III.: Actions 10 to 15 

Transitions 8 to 13 
Epilogue: Action 16 (Recession) 

Transition 14 (Finale) 



APPENDIX 293 



THE ACTIONS and TRANSITIONS 

Comprise the following 

Scenes and Characters 

with 

Place and Time 

in the order of their sequence: 

(Note: The numbers and letters, which stand before the 
names below, indicate the Acting Roles, which are listed^ on 
Pages 305-308.) 

Prologue.— FIRST ACTION 

(Prelude) 

Scene: In the Playhouse — before and behind 
the Curtains. 

PL.VCE AND Time : Of the Performance. 
Characters: 10 men. — ^ Total: 10 men. 

a. A LITTLE BOY ] 
h. A LITTLE GIRL J 
1. QUILLOQUON 

(E) THE COMIC MASK . 

(F) THE TRAGIC MASK 
A. THE THEATRE 

c. THE PRESENCE (Mute) 

THE INHIBITORS (Seven of whom speak) 

1 In the totals given, Quilloquon, the Two Children, the Presence, 
and Washington are not included 



294 APPENDIX 



c. 


The Seventh Inhibitor 


E. 


" Sixth 


F. 


" Fifth 


G. 


" Fourth 


H. 


" Third 


I. 


" Second 


J. 


" First 



FIRST TRANSITION 

Ballad: "The Golden Libertee" 
Quilloquon — sings, to dulcimer 
Children — mute 

SECOND ACTION 

(Induction) 
Scene: Exterior: House, Colonnade and Kit- 
chen of Washington's Mansion. 
Place and Time: Mt. Vernon, Virginia, at 

about the Present Time. 
Characters: 8 men, 2 women. — ^Total: 18 
men, 2 women. 
1. (Quilloquon) 
a, b. {The Two Children) 
G. A SOLDIER IN KHAKI 
F. FIRST CIVILIAN 
D. SECOND CIVILIAN 
C. THIRD CIVILIAN 
H. A SOLDIER IN LIGHT-BLUE 
B. FOURTH CIVILIAN 
I. AN ITALIAN OFFICER 
J. A BRITISH OFFICER 
(9) AN ELDERLY WOMAN 
(10) A YOUNGER WOMAN 



APPENDIX 295 

SECOND TRANSITION 

Melody: "America" 
Quilloquon — plays fiddle 
Children — mute 

Act. I. THIRD ACTION 

Scene: The Same. 
Time: about 1750. 

Characters: 4 men, 2 women. — ^Total: 
men, 4 women. 
1. {Quilloquon) 
a, b. {The Two Children) 
5. LORD FAIRFAX 

1. LAWRENCE WASHINGTON 
11. MAMMY SAL 

J. JACOB VAN BRAMM 
C. ADJUTANT MUSE 
9. MARY WASHINGTON 

2. GEORGE WASHINGTON 

THIRD TRANSITION 

Piping of Frogs 
Quilloquon — plays flute 

Ballad: "Bangry Rewy" 
Quilloquon — sings, to fifing 

FOURTH ACTION 

Scene: The Same. 
Time: about 1756. 

Characters: 6 men, 3 women. — ^Total: 28 men, 
7 women. 
1. {Quilloquon) 



296 APPENDIX 

12. SALLY FAIRFAX 

13. ANN SPEARING 

14. ELIZABETH DENT 

F. BISHOP 

D. HUMPHREY KNIGHT 
B. WILLIAM POOLE 

Negroes (Mute) 

E. CAPT. JOHN POSEY 

2. COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON 
8. ZEKIEL 

G. A COLONIAL OFFICER 

FOURTH TRANSITION 

Melody: "Bangry Rewy" 
Quilloquon — plays fiddle 

Plantation Song: "Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down?" 
Voices of Negroes — sing, to thrumming 

FIFTH ACTION 

Scene: The Same. 
Time: May, 1759. 

Characters: 3 men, 2 women. — Total 31 
men, 9 women. Recurrent: 2 men, 
1 woman. 
11. MAMMY SAL 
8. ZEKIEL 

Wedding Guests 
E. CAPT. JOHN POSEY 
10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 
2. COL. GEORGE WASHINGTON 
b. (Patty Custis) 

a. (Jack Custis) The Two Children 
1. (A Fiddler) — Quilloquon 



APPENDIX 297 

SIXTH ACTION 

Act II. Scene: Exterior — Before the Doorway of 
King's College: Night 
Place and Time: New York, 1775. 
Characters: 13 men. — Total 44 men, 9 women. 
Liberty Boys who sing and shout 
Voices (Ten speak) 

1. A Hawker of Ballads — Quilloquon 
D. LEADER OF THE CROWD 

L MYLES COOPER 

3. ALEXANDER HAMILTON 

FIFTH TRANSITION 

Ballad: "Bands and Rebels" 
Quilloquon (Ballad-Hawker) — sings and dances 
Children — dance, with him 

SEVENTH ACTION 

Scene: Same as Act I: day. 
Place and Time: Mt. Vernon, 1775. 
Characters: 4 men, 2 women. — Total: 48 

men, 11 women. Recurrent: 1 man, 

1 woman. 

2. COL. WASHINGTON 

10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 

11, MAMMY SAL 
G. JACK CUSTIS 

7. BILLY 

H. PATRICK HENRY 
5. LORD FAIRFAX 
1. (Fifer — Quilloquon) 



298 APPENDIX 

a. (Drummer — The Boy) 

b. (Fiddler— r^e Girl) 

SIXTH TRANSITION 

Tune: "Bands and Rebels" 
Quilloquon ( Fif er ) — fifes 
The Boy — drums 
The Girl — fiddles 

Ballad: "Bunker's Hill" 
Quilloquon — sings 
Children — mute 

Tune: "Yankee Doodle" 
Quilloquon — fiddles 
The Boy — drums 
The Girl — fifes 

EIGHTH ACTION 

Scene: Exterior: Between Massachusetts and 

Harvard Halls: day. 
Place and Time: Cambridge, late summer of 

1775. 
Characters: 15 men. — Total: 63 men, 11 
women. Recurrent: 1 man. 
Soldiers ^ 

Students 
Girls 
1. (Yankee Doodle — Quilloquon) 

a. (Hobby-Lion — the Boy) 

b. (Hobby-Unicorn — the Girl) 
I. CHAPLAIN EMERSON 

3 Students 
2 Soldiers 
6. COL. HENRY KNOX 



APPENDIX 299 

Marblehead "Johnnies" (4 of whom speak) 

Virginian "Jinnies" 
C. LEADER OF "JINNIES" 
F. LEADER OF "JOHNNIES" 
2. GENERAL WASHINGTON 
7. BILLY 
J. SELECTMAN 

Two other Selectmen 
1. (Grindstone-Man — Quilloquon) 
a, b. (Two Children, bearing axes — the Boy and the 
Girl) 



SEVENTH TRANSITION 
Part 1. 

Ballad: "Axes to Grind" 
Quilloquon (Grindstone man) — sings, and treadles 
Children — Mute 

Part 2. 

Church-bell and chimes 

Rhythmic Voices — chant beginning of Declaration of In- 
dependence 
Quilloquon {Town Crier) — intones and speaks 

Part 3 

Tune: "Raggle-Taggle Gypsies" 
Quilloquon ( unseen ) — fiddles 

Ballad: "Raggle-Taggle Gypsies" 
Quilloquon {Gypsy and Lord) — sings, and mimes 
Children {Gypsies, Servant and Lady) — sing, and mime 
A Man^s Voice — sings, and speaks. 



300 APPENDIX 

NINTH ACTION 

Scene: Exterior — ^An opening amid snow-laden 
woods: gusty moonlight. 

Place and Time: By the Delaware River, above 
Trenton: Christmas night, 1776. 

Characters: 3 men. Total: 66 men, 11 women. 
Recurrent: 1 man. 

B. THOMAS PAINE 

J. LIEUT. JAMES MONROE 

2. WASHINGTON 

3. HAMILTON 

(The Sound of a Flute — Quilloquon^s) 
Voices of Men 

ACT III. TENTH ACTION 

Scene: In a scene-loft 

Place and Time: At the Old South Theatre, 

Philadelphia: winter of 1778. 
Characters: 3 men, 2 women. — ^Total: 69 men, 
13 women 
1. (A Scene-Shifter — Quilloquon) 
a, b. (Two Children with Paint-Pots — the Boy and the 
Girl) 
A. CAPTAIN JOHN ANDRE 

C. GENERAL SIR WILLIAM HOWE 
F. GENERAL KNYPHAUSEN 

15. POLLY REDMOND 

16. BETSY ROSS 

EIGHTH TRANSITION 

Ballad: "Down by the Cold Hill-Sidey." 
Quilloquon — sings, to dulcimer 



APPENDIX 301 

ELEVENTH ACTION 

Scene: Interior of Washington's tent: stormy 

daylight 
Place and Time : Valley Forge, winter of 1778 
Characters: 11 men. — Total: 80 men, 13 

women. Recurrent: 3 men 

3. HAMILTON 

B. THOMAS PAINE 
Soldiers, in harness 
THREE SOLDIERS (who speak) 
E. The First 
J. The Second 
(H). The Third 
2. WASHINGTON 
H. A DOCTOR 
7. BILLY 

I. BARON VON STEUBEN 
G. COUNT PULASKI 
D. A SENTINEL 

4. MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE 
1. (A Postboy — Quilloquon) 

NINTH TRANSITION 

Ballad: "Gypsy Davy" 
Quilloquon — sings, to thrummed strings 

TWELFTH ACTION 

Scene: A triumphal Arohway 

Place and Time: Philadelphia — Spring of 1778 

Characters: 6 men, 2 women — Total: 86 men, 

15 women. Recurrent: 2 men, 2 

women 



302 APPENDIX 

1. (A Ragged Singer — Quilloquon) 
A. "A KNIGHT" (CAPTAIN ANDRfi) 

15. "A LADY" (POLLY REDMOND) 
3 Soldiers 

1. (A Bugler — Quilloquon) 

2. WASHINGTON 
4. LA FAYETTE 

E. President Laurens ] 

3. Hamilton 
Officers 
Civilians 

16. Betsy Ross 

TENTH TRANSITION 

Ballad: "Betsy Ross" 
Quilloquon — sings, and dances. 
The Children — sing refrain and dance with him 

THIRTEENTH ACTION 

Scene: An Embrasure in a Battery: Night. 
Place and Time : Outside the defences of York- 

toAvn, October, 1781 
Characters: 2 men. — Total: 88 men, 15 women. 

Recurrent: 1 man. 

2. WASHINGTON 

6. GENERAL HENRY KNOX 

D. AN OFFICER 

ELEVENTH TRANSITION 

A BelVs deep clanging 
The Town Crier {Quilloquon) — cries the fall of Yorktown. 



APPENDIX 303 

FOURTEENTH ACTION 

Part I. 

Scene: A shadowy semi-circle 
Time: May, 1782. 

Characters: 6 men. — Total: 94 men, 15 
women. 
G. AN OFFICER (NICOLA) 
FIVE OTHER OFFICERS 
H. The Second 

D. The Third 

E. The Fourth 

F. The Fifth 
I. The Sixth 

Voices of Several More 

Part II. 
Scene: A seat by a light-stand 
Time: May, 1782. 

Characters: 2 men. — Total: 96 men, 15 
women. Recurrent: 2 men. 
2. WASHINGTON 
7. BILLY 
G. COL. NICOLA 

TWELFTH TRANSITION 

Plantation Melody: "Oh, whar'll I lay my heart down?" 
Choral Voices of Negroes — sing, to thrummed instruments 

FIFTEENTH ACTION 

Scene: same as Act I: Night 
Place and Time: Mt. Vernon, Christmas Eve, 
1783 



304 APPENDIX 

Characters: 1 man, 2 women. — ^Total: 97 
men, 17 women. Recurrent: 1 man, 
2 women. 
8. ZEKIEL 
11. MAMMY SAL 
10. MARTHA WASHINGTON 
2. WASHINGTON 

a. Jack Parke Custis {the Boy) 

b. Nellie Custis (the Girl) 
1. A Fiddler {Quilloquon) 

THIRTEENTH TRANSITION 
Tune: "Bangry Rewy" 

The Fiddler (Quilloquon) — plays and mimes 
The Two Children — are mute, and mime. 

Epilogue.— SIXTEENTH ACTION 

(Recession) 

Scene: The Same: Approaching sunset. 
Place and Time: Mt. Vernon, about the Pres- 
ent Time. 
Characters: 2 men. — Total: 99 men, 17 
women. Recurrent: 2 men. 
Total of recurrent: 14 men, 6 women. 
Total of speaking parts: 85 men, 11 women. 
Total of men and women = 96 parts.^ 

TWO CIVILIANS 
B. The First 
D. The Second 
1. (Quilloquon) 

' Plus the parts of Washington, Quilloquon and the Two Children 
= 100 parts. 



APPENDIX 305 

a,b. {The Tivo Children) 
c. The Presence 

Bearers of the Banners of the Allies 

FOURTEENTH TRANSITION 

(Finale) 
Ballad: "The Golden Libertee" 
Quilloquon — sings, to dulcimer 
The Two Children— axQ mute. 

ACTING ROLES 

Note: Various combinations in doubling roles are, of 
course, feasible. The combinations here given are sug- 
gested as being perhaps the most appropriate and prac- 
ticable. They provide for a company of twenty-nine per- 
sons (19 men, 8 women, 1 boy and 1 girl), of whom nine- 
teen^ enact Individual Roles (1 to 16 and a, b) and ten 
enact Doubling Roles (A to J. inch), as follows:: 

INDIVIDUAL ROLES 
(Men and Women) 
— 16 — 
Men Women 

1. Quilloquon ^ ^9. Mary Washington 

2. Washington ^ 10. Martha Washington 

3. Alexander Hamilton 11. Mammy Sal 

4. LaFayette 12. Sally Fairfax 

5. Lord Fairfax 13. Anne Spearing 

6. Henry Knox 14. Elizabeth Dent 

7. Billy 15. Polly Redmond 

8. Zekiel 16. Betsy Ross 

iQne of these nineteen, Quilloquon, assumes fantastically twelve 
roles of pantomime or singing. 

2 Also acts the Elderly Woman in the Induction. 

3 Also acts the Younger Woman in the Induction. 



306 



i APPENDIX 


(Children) 

2 


rhe Boy b. 


The Girl 


(Jack Custis: 5th Action 


(Patty Custis: 5th Action 


Drummer: 7th Action 


Fiddler: 7th Action 


Hobby-Lion : 8th Action 


Hobby-Unicorn : 8th 


Ax-bearer: 8th Action 


Action 


Gypsy: 7th Transition 


Ax-bearer : 8th Action 


(Part 3) 


Gypsy : 7th Transition 


Paint-pot Holder: 10th 


(Part 3) 


Action 


Paint-pot Holder: 10th 


Jack Parke Custis: 15th 


Action 


Action) 


Nellie Custis: 15th Ac- 


(Mute) 


tion) 


— 1 man - 


— 


c. The Presence 



DOUBLING ROLES 

— 10 men — 



. (Quilloquon) 






Fiddler 


Fifth Action 


Act L) 


Hawker of Ballads 


Sixth Action 


(Act IL) 


Fifer 


Seventh Action 


(Act II.) 


Yankee Doodle 


Eighth Action 


(Act IL) 


Grindstone-Man 


(( 


(Act IL) 


Town-Crier 


Seventh Transition 






Part 2 


(Act IL) 


Gypsy 


Seventh Transition 






Part 3 


(Act IL) 


Scene-Shifter 


Tenth Action 


(Act IIL) 


Post-Boy 


Eleventh Action 


(Act IIL) 


Ragged Singer 


Twelfth Action 


(Act IIL) 


Bugler 


c« 


(Act IIL) 


Fiddler 


Fifteenth Action 


(Act IIL) 



APPENDIX 

A. The Theatre First Action 

Captain John Andre Tenth Action 



B. Fourth Civilian 
William Poole 
Thomas Paine 

First Civilian 

C. Seventh Inhibitor 
Third Civilian 
Adjutant Muse 
Leader of "Jinnies" 
General Howe 

D. Second Civilian 
Humphrey Knight 
Leader of the Crowd 
First Student 

A Sentinel 
An Officer 
Third Officer 
Second Civilian 



Second Action 
Fourth Action 
Ninth Action 
Eleventh Action 
Sixteenth Action 

First Action 
Second Action 
Third Action 
Eighth Action 
Tenth Action 

Second Action 
Fourth Action 
Sixth Action 
Eighth Action 
Eleventh Action 
Thirteenth Action 
Fourteenth Action 
Sixteenth Action 



(The Comic Mask) 

Sixth Inhibitor 

Captain John Posey 

Second Student 

First Soldier 

Pres. Laurens (Mute) Twelfth Action 

Fourth Officer Fourteenth Action 



First Action 
Fourth Action 
Fifth Action 
Eighth Action 
Eleventh Action 



307 

(Prologue) 
(Act III.) 

(Prologue) 
(Act I.) 
(Act II.) 
(Act HI.) 
(Epilogue) 

(Prologue) 
(Prologue) 
(Act I.) 
(Act II.) 

(Act in.) 

(Prologue) 
(Act*^L) 
(Act II.) 
(Act IL) 
(Act III.) 
(Act m.) 
(Act in.) 

(Act III.) 

(Prologue) 
(Act I.) 
(Act I.) 
(Act II.) 
(Act HI.) 
(Act in.) 
(Act in.) 



(The Tragic Mask) 
Fifth Inhibitor 



First Action 



(Prologue)^ 



308 



G. 



H. 



J. 



APPENDIX 




First Civilian 


Second Action 


(Pirologue) 


Bishop 


Fourth Action 


(Act L) 


Leader of "Johnnies" 


Eighth Action 


(Act IL) 


General Knyphausen 


Tenth Action 


(Act III.) 


Fifth Officer 


Fourteenth Action 


(Act in.) 


Fourth Inhibitor 


First Action 


(Prologue) 


A Soldier in Khaki 


Second Action 


(Prologue) 


A Colonial Officer 


Fourth Action 


(Act L) 


Jack Custis 


Seventh Action 


(Act IL) 


Count Pulaski 


Eleventh Action 


(Act III.) 


Col. Nicola 


Fourteenth Action 


(Act in.) 


Third Inhibitor 


First Action 


(Prologue) 


Soldier in Light-Blue Second Action 


(Prologue) 


Patrick Henry 


Seventh Action 


(Act IL) 


A Tattered Doctor 


Eleventh Action 


(Act III.) 


Second Officer 


Fourteenth Action 


(Act in.) 


Second Inhibitor 


First Action 


(Prologue) 


An Italian Officer 


Second Action 


(Prologue) 


Lawrence Washington Third Action 


(Act L) 


Myles Cooper 


Sixth Action 


(Act IL) 


Chaplain Emerson 


Eighth Action 


(Act IL) 


Von Steuben 


Eleventh Action 


(Act in.) 


Sixth Officer 


Fourteenth Action 


(Act in.) 


First Inhibitor 


First Action 


(Prologue) 


A British Officer 


Second Action 


(Prologue) 


Jacob Van Branun 


Third Action 


(Act L) 


A Selectman 


Eighth Action 


(Act II.) 


Lieut. James Monroe Ninth Action 


(Act IL) 


Second Soldier 


Eleventh Action 


(Act in.) 



APPENDIX 
LIST OF PROPERTIES 



309 



Note: As this play may sometime perhaps be of use for 
community performances, the following list of properties is 
printed here, for purposes of such production: — 



Prologue. 
1st Action :- 



2nd Action: — 



Fiddle, Dulcimer, Flute (Mt. Vernon), 

Lantern on Pole (old New England 

lantern). 
Chair and Table (Colonial: blue). 
3 Masks (Comedy, Tragedy, Theatre), 

Staff for Theatre (with Janus-head of 

Comedy and Tragedy). 
Various Masks, Manuscripts, Books, 

Map, Memo, Candles, Scrolls. 
Guide-Book, Sprig of Verbena. 



Act. I. Riding- Whip (twined with ivy). 

3rd Action: — 2 Broadswords, Gamecock in Coop. 

Wooden Bench, Copper Kettle, Box of 

Sand. 
Garden Rake, Strips of Cloth. 
Indian Mask, Surveyor's Tripod, Gun, 
Knapsack, Kit, 2 Dead Wild Turkeys, 
Maple Sugar, Dog. 



4th Action: — 



Wreath of Wild Laurel. 

Long Planting-Box (as 
text) , Wooden Pins, 
and Muck, Cloth Bags. 

Bone-topped Cane. 

Sealed document. 



described in 
Wheelbarrow 



310 APPENDIX 

5th Action: — Trenchers, Trays, Dishes (all heaped 

with food). 
Keys and Girdle. 
Table for Fiddler. 



Act II. 

6th Action; 



Bells, Cannon, Musketry, Rail, Lan- 
terns, Poles, Ballad Strips (Broad- 
sides). 



7th Action: — Luggage, Flute, Sword and Girdle, Sad- 

dle-Bags, Pocket-Book, Drum. 



8th Action :- 



7th Transition; 

9th Action: — 

Act III. 
10th Action:— 



Cannon, Table, 2 Benches. 

Hobby-Horse, Hobby-Lion, Hobby-Uni- 
corn. 

Rattlesnake-Flag, Snuff-Box. 

Grindstone-Push-Cart, Hand-Bell, Axes, 
Hatchet. 

Lantern on Staff with Hatchet Top. 

Note-Book, Firewood, Musket. 



Stepladder, Boxes, Chair and Table, 
Tapestry, Screens, Drawings and De- 
signs for Stage-Settings, Paint-Pots, 
Paints, Brushes, Lanterns (or Can- 
delabra), Standards for Costumes. 

Cane, Bundle containing American 
Flag (with Thirteen Stars). 



11th Action: — Sleigh-Bells, Grapevine Harness, Table, 



APPENDIX 311 

2 Campstools, Sledge with Snow- 
crusted Firewood. 
Letters and Papers, Long Pipe, Polish 
Flag, Post-Bag.— Dog. 

12th Action:— Shield with Landscape (Andre's), Va- 
rious Statues, Bugle. 

Epilogue 

lltli Transition:— Long Pipe, Light-Stand, Spectacles, 

Shaded Lamp, Crown and Colours, 

Letters, Candle. 

16th Action:— Banners of Allied Nations. 



312 APPENDIX 

THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S PRAYER ♦ 

By Thomas Paine 

(1776) 

Parent of all, omnipotent 

In heaven, and earth below. 
Through all creation's bounds unspent, 

Whose streams of goodness flow, 

Teach me to know from whence I rose. 

And unto what designed; 
No private aims let me propose, 

Since linked with human kind. 

But chief to hear my country's voice. 

May all my thoughts incline; 
'Tis reason's law, 'tis virtue's choice 

'Tis nature's call and thine. 

Me from fair freedom's sacred cause 

Let nothing e'er divide; 
Grandeur, nor gold, nor vain applause 

Nor friendship false misguide. 

Let me not faction's partial hate 

Pursue to this Land's woe; 
Nor grasp the thunder of the state 

To wound a private foe. 

If, for the right to wish the wrong 

My country shall combine, 
Single to serve th' erroneous throng, 

Spite of themselves, be mine. 

♦From the Addenda to "Commonsense." See the "Life of 
Thomas Paine," by Moncure D. Conway, page 116. 



APPENDIX 313 



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near old Shirley Common 


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"Water for Soldiers'' and welcome 
for road-weary pilgrims 
L. F. A. & S. L. 
Arivederci! 



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